<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>temporary heroes by readtheroomfucko</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25568008">temporary heroes</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/readtheroomfucko/pseuds/readtheroomfucko'>readtheroomfucko</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>tropico [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dead To Me (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>2005 was a good year okay?, Eurovision!AU, F/F, FTL, enemies to lovers if you squint, newlyweds is the new facts of life, none of this makes sense just accept it and lean in baby, singers falling in love</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 02:07:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>30,078</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25568008</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/readtheroomfucko/pseuds/readtheroomfucko</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“She hummed Judy’s song, letting each breathy note fill her bedroom, and she imagined the hot stage lights, the packed auditorium, the energy pulsing through her body. She imagined it all — not as a singular moment, but as the beginning of something monumental, and for the first time in a long time, she felt alive.”</p><p>It’s a last-ditch effort to save her career; one final chance for Jen to show the world (or at least the majority of Europe) that she has what it takes to make it as an artist. Eurovision.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Judy Hale/Jen Harding</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>tropico [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1916350</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>91</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/lagunabitchgc/gifts">lagunabitchgc</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>picture it: sweden, 2005. eurovision/melfest fans, suspend your disbelief because very little of this is accurate. this fic is a joke that went too far, a oneshot au that surpassed 20k, the esc romance that nobody asked for — i have nothing to say for myself. enjoy! </p><p>big thanks to bgaydocrimes and patsydecline for beta-ing and laughing about newlyweds with me.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“I’m competing as a solo act,” Jen insisted, earning a terse look from her manager, Lorna. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re talented, Jennifer,” Lorna admitted, and Jen waited patiently for the other shoe to drop, “but —“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And there it is,” Jen muttered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>But</span>
  </em>
  <span> you </span>
  <em>
    <span>will not </span>
  </em>
  <span>win with a solo performance. I know that’s not what you want to hear right now, but it’s true.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jen was fuming, her hands balling into fists at her sides. She’d never heard of this happening before. Bands came as bands and soloists came as soloists and yet here she was getting thrown into a group she’d never met, probably days away from being tossed aside to be a glorified set piece for a few electropop idiots who could barely carry a simple melody without autotune or dance without winding themselves. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was twenty-five years old now and she’d been training for something like this her whole life — dancing since she was old enough to walk, singing since she learned how to speak. At nineteen she’d moved to the States from Sweden fuelled by the grief of losing her mother and a possibly delusional feeling of being a big fish in a small pond. Over the years her career had become another of her life’s many disappointments.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Every day she went to work — reception at a real estate agency in Laguna Beach she’d always quietly suspected had loose ties to money laundering — and fantasized about hanging herself from the ceiling fan as a respite from the mind-numbing boredom of it all. On the weekends, she’d play a couple of sets at local dive bars and pretend something didn’t shatter inside her every time someone drunkenly told her she could be a star someday. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So yeah, maybe Jen was counting on some industry hotshot seeing her on TV — not as that one blonde from Sweden’s band, but as </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jen Harding</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The gravity of quitting her job outright and jumping on the first flight home to Stockholm to potentially end up with nothing to show for it was rapidly sinking in and it terrified her. If Jen even wanted to get on stage at Eurovision, this stupid band would have to win at the national song selection and the submission deadline for Melodifestivalen was rapidly approaching. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lorna, please,” Jen begged, “You know I can pull this off. I just need you to give me a chance, okay? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span> just give me a chance.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jennifer,” she crossed her arms and Jen was already beginning to regret having resorted to begging, “From a technical perspective, you’d have the vote, but this competition isn’t about picking the best artist. You have zero stage presence. You look like somebody is standing behind you with a gun to your head every time you perform.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, I’ll show you a fucking gun to your head, Lorna.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jen sucked in a sharp breath and tried to calm herself, uncurling her fist and tapping her leg with her index finger, letting the sensation distract her from the overwhelming urge to haul off and punch her in the throat. In the few short months she’d known Lorna, she’d figured out pretty quickly that arguing with her never worked in her favour. She was an insidious cunt, a pain in Jen’s ass, and ironically, her only hope. </span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jen was stretching at the barre, headphones on, when she felt a tap on her shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hello?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” she snapped, sliding her headphones down around her neck and turning to face the source of the intrusion. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fucking Lorna. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello, Jennifer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just Jen, Lorna,” she corrected for the millionth time, knowing it would likely go ignored. Her assumption was proven correct when Lorna waved a hand dismissively, her expression painting a clear portrait of her distaste for Jen’s nickname. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have someone I’d like you to meet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lorna smiled then, almost wolfishly, and Jen knew she wasn’t going to like what was coming. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be shy, now. Come on in, Judy,” she called toward the door, “Jen’s in a bit of a mood, but you’ll get used to that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> in a mood,” Jen shot back defensively, “I’m trying to get a warm-up in before Chris comes to show me the new choreo.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And so is Judy. She pulled her hamstring last week, so I trust you’ll use all of that </span>
  <em>
    <span>experience</span>
  </em>
  <span> you never fail to bring up to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jen wasn’t sure why it happened now of all times, but Lorna had finally pushed her too far. She snapped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seriously, Lorna? Who the fuck is Judy and why the fuck am I babysitting her? You have me running back and forth between here and the studio all day every day — </span>
  <em>
    <span>rehearse this new song, learn this new routine</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I’m fucking exhausted and this is the </span>
  <em>
    <span>only</span>
  </em>
  <span> time I have for myself, so </span>
  <em>
    <span>who</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she punctuated her words deliberately, “The fuck. Is Judy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lorna opened her mouth to speak but was quickly interrupted by a small brunette in the doorway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi,” she waved awkwardly with an uncertain smile, “I’m Judy. Judy Hale. You must be Jennifer?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Jen</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she replied, unable to keep the bite out of her tone, “I don’t mean to be rude, but what are you doing here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jen sized up the woman in front of her. She was pretty in an annoyingly wholesome way — brown hair falling to the middle of her back in soft curls just a few shades darker than her eyes, a floral sundress cinched in the waist accentuating her slender frame, the straps and bodice of a simple black ballet leotard visible underneath. She was in her early twenties, Jen guessed, definitely American judging by the accent, and her posture gave the impression of someone who didn’t like being seen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” she rubbed at the back of her neck, her cheeks flushing pink, “I’ve been recovering from this stupid strain all week so I haven’t been to any rehearsals yet. We’re competing together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Jen turned to Lorna with a raised eyebrow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For Melfest, I mean. Hopefully Eurovision,” Judy clarified and Jen fought the impulse to roll her eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s American.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So are you if we’re being nit-picky about it and Celine Dion is Canadian. She still won for Switzerland in 1988. Enjoy your warm-up, Jennifer,” Lorna smiled, squeezing Jen’s shoulder before turning to leave. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once Lorna was out of earshot, Judy spoke again, “You’re American? Where are you from?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m from Stockholm,” she replied as if it were obvious — as if she hadn’t spent the past six years trying to mimic an accent like Judy’s for the sake of fitting in, “I live in California.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me too!” Judy beamed, “Orange County.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Small world,” Jen remarked, hoping her disinterest wasn’t evident. None of this was Judy’s fault, really. It was Lorna and the team who didn’t trust Jen to represent Sweden and had plucked this fawn of a girl out of California to track mud through her big break. Right now, though, Judy was the only person Jen could take her frustration out on, and judging by her continued enthusiasm, she wasn’t picking up on any of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think we’d know any of the same people?” Judy asked, her genuine curiosity evident. Jen returned to stretching and prayed she would take the hint. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hummed, “Depends on how much time you spend hanging out with realtors.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a realtor? Lorna showed me your demo and I kinda figured you did this, like, full-time or something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jen laughed, a sharp, humourless sound, “I was a receptionist.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t either, for the record — or </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>, at least,” she replied quickly, clearly realizing she’d put her foot in her mouth, “I worked as a cleaner in an old folks home when I submitted. Shot in the dark kind of thing, you know? I mean, I heard Sweden was accepting international entries and I don’t know if I could pull off any of the outfits, but being the next Frida Lyngstad doesn’t sound half bad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Judy smiled sheepishly before pulling her water bottle out of her canvas tote to take a sip and Jen found herself softening slightly despite her best efforts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me get this straight,” Jen unhooked her headphones from around her neck and placed them on the floor next to her discman, “You’re trying to compete in Eurovision because of </span>
  <em>
    <span>ABBA</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Judy choked on her water, “No! I just figured if it worked out maybe this would get my name out there. I released an album two years ago and it just </span>
  <em>
    <span>bombed</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she scrunched up her face in discomfort, “Like, totally bombed. I don’t think anybody’s ever listened to it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sucks, man,” Jen sighed, “How old are you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m twenty-one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Well</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I hope you’re ready to play hardball with the grown-ups because I’m not fucking around with this,” she paused, narrowing her eyes, “Who do you think of when you think of ABBA?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, Frida?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re literally the only person who thinks of Frida. Agnetha’s the most popular member </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> the most recognizable. If we’re doing this, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m</span>
  </em>
  <span> Agnetha — is that clear?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay?” Judy’s smile faltered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great,” Jen replied awkwardly, feeling a twinge of remorse, “Now take off your dress and I’ll help you out with some stretches that won’t hurt your leg.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ouch,” Judy shot her an exaggerated grimace, “You’re not even gonna buy me dinner first?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a weird person, Judy.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The weeks and months passed quickly after that first meeting. Jen was relieved to find that Judy was Lorna’s only new addition and, honestly, she wasn’t all that bad. Sure, she was Jen’s polar opposite in just about every way, but she always brought an extra coffee on early mornings so it could have been worse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jen’s most surprising discovery was that Judy was </span>
  <em>
    <span>talented</span>
  </em>
  <span>. As soon as the music came on, Judy was a different person — every ounce of bashful energy replaced by something intoxicating. Something captivating and powerful. As it turned out, Jen really </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> have stage presence, but something about training with Judy was changing that. She was competing now — not just with the other hopefuls, but with </span>
  <em>
    <span>Judy</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rationally speaking, it was both petty and completely fucking absurd. Judy was Jen’s bandmate; the better Judy was, the better their chances of winning this nightmarish pageant of a competition and moving on to Eurovision. That being said, Jen wasn’t interested in being upstaged, and certainly not by some weird American girl with the personality of a golden retriever. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chris had taken to calling them Judy Sunshine and The Drill Sergeant because Jen never knew when to slow down and Judy — well, Judy was Judy. </span>
  <em>
    <span>She</span>
  </em>
  <span> was here to win and Judy was like, ‘enjoying the experience’ and ‘growing as a person’ or whatever. It was gross. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first time she saw Judy outside of rehearsals was the night that Melfest was scheduled to announce its contenders. Out of the thousands who’d submitted, only twenty-eight would be chosen to compete. She was scared, really — scared they hadn’t made the cut and scared of what might happen if she was alone when she found out — so she’d called her, and of course Judy was more than happy to come over. They had a team behind them which was more than the majority could say, but the odds were disconcerting to say the least. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jen sat at her desk, fingers beginning to cramp around the mouse as she compulsively refreshed the screen of her desktop every ten seconds and sipped slowly from a chilled glass of Absolut. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the sound of her apartment buzzer, she tore her eyes away from the display and stood up, quickly dusting bagel crumbs off of her velour lounge pants and checking her sports bra for any obvious stains. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey!” Judy’s voice came through the tinny speaker, crackly and distorted, “It’s me. Uh, it’s Judy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shook her head and buzzed her in, speaking into the microphone, “Fifth floor, last door on the left. Elevator’s broken so I hope you like stairs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Judy finally arrived at her doorstep, flushed and covered in a sheen of sweat, Jen was comforted to discover that her bandmate’s look that evening was no more put together than her own. Judy was wearing an oversized Neutral Milk Hotel tour t-shirt tied up with a hair elastic and a pair of well-worn yoga pants underneath a comically large parka. Her hair was wet and piled haphazardly into a top knot, bits of snow still trapped in her piecey bangs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You weren’t kidding about those stairs,” Judy panted, stomping her boots out on the welcome mat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s an old building,” she replied simply, leaving it at that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a </span>
  <em>
    <span>cheap</span>
  </em>
  <span> building, but Jen had done her best with decorating the run-down one bedroom — her biggest purchase since the move, a pillowy grey sleeper sofa, sat in the living room with her favourite wool blanket in front of the small CRT television she’d picked up from a garage sale in Bagarmossen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d hung a few prints on the walls, filled her shelves with books and various plants (anything the florist assured her would be actively difficult to kill), and bought a space heater to stave off some of the cold air that seeped in through the broken window frame in her bedroom. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her pointe shoes and ballet slippers hung from a hook above her desk just below the cork-board she’d thumb tacked their sheet music and hand-scrawled rehearsal notes to. A single framed photo of her and her mother sitting underneath the old oak tree outside of her childhood home was perched on top of a stack of CD cases next to her computer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her apartment in California had been decidedly worse. With its leaky pipes, worn out wallpaper, and perpetual odour of mothballs and cigarettes, it was a constant, decaying reminder that she was a failure as an artist and a somehow even </span>
  <em>
    <span>bigger</span>
  </em>
  <span> failure as an adult. She never had friends over, not that she had many, and made sure to douse any clothes that had been in her closet for too long with her strongest perfume. She’d made it work but she liked this one better. It felt like a home — personal somehow, like something she didn’t have to be ashamed of. It felt nice, even if it was only temporary. She wondered if Judy was one of those old money types — if Jen’s little apartment seemed pathetic to her. She hoped it didn’t. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As she gingerly removed her boots and stepped over the threshold, Judy let out an audible gasp, “Gosh, Jen, this place is gorgeous.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jen’s lips set in a tight line. Was Judy </span>
  <em>
    <span>mocking</span>
  </em>
  <span> her? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, very funny. Not all of us come from fucking money, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my God,” her eyes widened, “No, I’m being serious. There’s like, black mold in my bedroom and the bathroom sink has been broken for a month but I can’t even ask my landlord to fix it because I don’t speak Swedish. Last week my upstairs neighbour’s apartment got broken into so I started sleeping with a </span>
  <em>
    <span>baseball bat</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and to top it all off, I have </span>
  <em>
    <span>rats</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus, Judy,” Jen gawked, “Fuck, I’m sorry. I kind of just thought... you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That I’m some rich girl from California who showed up to rate your apartment?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” she groaned, “I don’t know what I thought. If you give me your landlord’s number in rehearsal on Monday I can talk to him about the sink though. And the rats. And the — you know what, why don’t I just talk to </span>
  <em>
    <span>my</span>
  </em>
  <span> landlord and see if 415 is still vacant? The stairs are a pain in the ass and there’s some water damage here and there, but at least you won’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>die</span>
  </em>
  <span> there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’d really do that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jen met her gaze, unimpressed, “Do you know what black mold exposure does to people?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not really,” Judy admitted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Causes respiratory illness. Chronic fatigue. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ergo</span>
  </em>
  <span> no singing, no dancing. If you get bitten by a rat and get the </span>
  <em>
    <span>plague</span>
  </em>
  <span> or some shit you’ll be out of commission and if someone smashes your head in with your own fucking baseball bat while you’re sleeping — well, we won’t have to worry about getting picked for Mello then, will we?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She gulped, “Yeah, probably not. Still, though,” she paused, looking at Jen intently, “I hope this isn’t weird but can I, like, give you a hug?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t like being touched.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Judy could reply, they were interrupted by the shrill ring of the landline and Jen rushed to the wall to pick it up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jennifer,” Lorna’s cool voice came through the receiver. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s going on?” she asked hurriedly, “Have you gotten the list yet? I haven’t checked.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s been a problem,” Lorna spoke slowly and Jen felt her heart drop, “Would I be correct in assuming it wasn’t you who submitted the demo?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jen’s brow creased, “No, Judy submitted for us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Check the list, Jennifer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The line went dead and Jen returned the phone to its base, staring at Judy with wide eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Judy, what did you do?” she asked carefully, already terrified to hear the answer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t do anything, Jen. I swear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jen made her way over to the computer with Judy close on her heels, hanging over Jen’s shoulder as she tipped back the rest of her glass of vodka and refreshed the page. It didn’t take long for her to find what she was looking for. Her breath caught in her throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This isn’t our song.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Judy slid up beside her, squinting at the screen before recognition dawned on her, “Oh yeah, that’s not ours! I submitted ours and a song I wrote — I thought maybe if the panel approved it, someone else could take it. It’s not like we have to use it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She said it so casually — as if she were telling Jen about what she’d eaten for dinner the previous night. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This is not fucking happening.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Judy,” she started, using every ounce of strength she had left to keep herself from shouting, “You can’t submit twice. We’ll be disqualified if we don’t use it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Judy seemed to deflate in front of her, her eyes filling with worry, “What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>mean</span>
  </em>
  <span>, that’s not how this fucking works, okay? They accept the </span>
  <em>
    <span>song</span>
  </em>
  <span>, not some vague suggestion of a performance from us. It’s a fucking song contest, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Judy</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh fuck,” she slapped her hand over her mouth, “Fuck, </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit</span>
  </em>
  <span> — I didn’t know. I’m such an idiot.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was rambling now, apologizing frantically, and Jen watched as she brought a hand to her forearm and dug her nails in hard, leaving behind a row of angry pink crescent indentations in her pale skin. She’d never seen Judy like this. As angry as Jen was, it was jarring. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jen took a breath, “Do you have the song?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think so,” she rifled through her tote and pulled out a fuzzy green CD wallet, removing a blank disk that had been scribbled on with a Sharpie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jen rubbed at her temples, cursing herself for not having anticipated this headache-inducing mess and buying a bottle of extra strength ibuprofen the last time she’d been at the pharmacy. She grabbed her discman off of the desk and snatched the CD out of Judy’s hand, loading it in and clicking it shut before yanking open the desk drawer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I have a splitter somewhere in here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One agonizing minute later, she’d managed to find the splitter and connect two sets of headphones to her discman — she’d given Judy the shitty ones that came with it because, yeah, she was trying to be the bigger person right now, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck this</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Judy looked petrified — like Jen was about to read her fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>diary</span>
  </em>
  <span> or something — and all Jen could do was grumble out, “You do the honours,” leaving Judy to press play. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the heavy dance beat of the song kicked in, Jen groaned inwardly, unable to resist getting a dig in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I had no idea Americans were so into Schlager tracks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m guessing that’s not a good thing,” Judy observed meekly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It kind of is,” she admitted, “If Lorna wasn’t such a domineering fuck, she’d probably cream herself over this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Judy blushed, an uncertain smile tugging at her lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Judy’s voice emerged then, sultry and full of emotion, and Jen realized with a start that this really </span>
  <em>
    <span>wasn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>the cookie-cutter dance track she was expecting. It was on the edgier side. Not necessarily angry or melancholic, but intense. There was a passionate desperation to the lyrics — a mix between a declaration of love and a rebellion, somehow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The chorus was catchy without being over the top and Jen found herself overcome by a feeling that was unfamiliar to her when it came to Judy. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Admiration</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She should have been furious. Somehow she wasn’t. Still, the idea of Judy thinking she’d gone soft and given her carte blanche to do whatever she wanted was nauseating, so she put on her best façade of vague annoyance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re lucky I’m a fucking professional, Judy. That makes one of us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I really am sorry,” she replied earnestly, “Like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> sorry. You have no idea, I —“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my God,” Jen groaned, “Stop apologizing. You apologize like fifty fucking times a day, you know that? You say you’re sorry so often it doesn’t even mean anything anymore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She cringed, “Sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Judy.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit,” she mumbled, dropping her face into her palms, “I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>sorry then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should be a little sorry,” Jen clarified, “I’m going to call Lorna and get her to book us in at the studio so we can re-record this, Chris is going to have to choreograph a new routine, and you need to take this,” she removed the disc and handed it to Judy, “and arrange it as a duet. I want the melody in the chorus.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” she enthused, “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>love</span>
  </em>
  <span> singing harmony. It’s like, my favourite part.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jen gave her a knowing look and Judy let out a trapped sigh and continued, avoiding Jen’s gaze, “Especially when I’m a little sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop that,” she protested, her voice coming out far softer than she’d intended, “So, what’s the song about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s nothing,” she replied, staring intently at her hands, “It’s stupid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If it’s important to you, it’s not stupid.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jen didn’t know why she was suddenly trying to impart wisdom on Judy or whatever the fuck the purpose of her comment had been, but she was starting to hate how deferential and meek she could be. The song was good. It clearly mattered to her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” she paused, as if searching for the words, “It’s about letting go, I guess. Starting over and trusting that it’ll be worth it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm,” Jen smiled, a little teasingly, “Sure sounded like a love song to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Judy chuckled, tapping Jen lightly on the shoulder with her obnoxious CD wallet, “Well, y’know, it’s easier to have faith in the future when you’re not alone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pretty big thoughts for a very little Judy Hale,” she remarked, earning a toothy grin from the other woman. If she was being honest, Jen sometimes enjoyed the dynamic the two of them would fall into on the rare occasions she wasn’t actively keeping Judy at arms length. They’d grown to develop a rapport that felt different to Jen — playful and warm. Judy was all of the soft things Jen wasn’t. She filled in the gaps. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, shut up, Jen,” she laughed, “You’re four years older than me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My birthday’s next week, actually,” Jen pointed out, “So five.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course you’re a Scorpio,” Judy rolled her eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Spoken like a true Capri Sun,” Jen fired back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not a </span>
  <em>
    <span>Capricorn</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Jen. I’m a Pisces. Obviously.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>obviously</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Judy’s face seemed to light up, “You’re making fun of me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And that’s exciting to you… why, exactly?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know you’ve never liked me, Jen. I’m not stupid.” Jen was about to protest when Judy silenced her with the wave of a hand, “But it’s nice. Being with you like this. It’s nice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jen sighed, “I never </span>
  <em>
    <span>hated</span>
  </em>
  <span> you, for the record.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Judy didn’t respond, only smiled, gathered her things and wandered over to the kitchen window to look out over the city. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t have a view like this,” she remarked, “It’s beautiful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You get used to it eventually.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jen poured herself another glass of vodka and leaned against the fridge, the two of them settling into a comfortable silence. Finally, Judy turned her head, a mischievous smirk on her face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We made it, Jen. We’re in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was the first time Jen had really stopped to consider how huge this was. She and Judy had beat the odds. They could </span>
  <em>
    <span>win</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her lips quirked up around her glass, “Fucking right, we’re in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Laying in bed that night, she thought back to the time Judy had looked at her, a curious glint in her eye. Probing and inquisitive. “Why this?” she’d asked, “Why Eurovision?” Jen had just laughed. It was a loaded question. Not why Eurovision, but why music? Why dance? Why anything? The simple answer was </span>
  <em>
    <span>because it’s real</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but of course that only made sense in her head. It was something concrete — a conduit for the things she couldn’t say, and really, there was a lot Jen couldn’t say. It was an escape. A way to feel things without really feeling them. Make the pain into something beautiful and it can’t hurt you anymore. An animal without teeth and claws couldn’t do much more than smack you around a little and Jen would take a few bruises and a split lip over a torn out throat. </span>
</p><p><span>She remembered the year her mother had died — how the days started to bleed into one another. How she’d spent a week in bed, ash from her cigarettes leaving little red welts on her chest, and how she’d barely even felt it. It was the first time she’d been forced to face death as an inevitable. Her mother had died of cancer and maybe someday Jen would too. She didn’t see it as an abrupt event, more like a gradual process, an undercurrent. So maybe that was Jen’s reason; she wanted to </span><em><span>do</span></em> <em><span>something</span></em><span> — not just be dying. </span></p><p>
  <span>She wondered, if she’d told her all of this, if Judy would have understood how it felt to mourn a life you’re still living. To know how temporary it all was. There were some things you just didn’t talk about.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pressure was always there, steadily grinding at her, but tonight Jen felt lighter. They’d done the impossible, or at the very least the highly improbable. She thought about what Judy had said to her — </span>
  <em>
    <span>it’s easier to have faith in the future when you’re not alone.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jen had never considered herself an optimist, but for the first time in a long time, she allowed herself to be hopeful. She hummed Judy’s song, letting each breathy note fill her bedroom, and she imagined the hot stage lights, the packed auditorium, the energy pulsing through her body. She imagined it all — not as a singular moment, but as the beginning of something monumental, and for the first time in a long time, she felt alive. </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The following week of rehearsals was their most intense yet. As it turned out, working up an entirely new routine just two months before she and Judy were expected to compete with it wasn’t an easy feat. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Who would’ve guessed?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One particularly grim November morning, Jen had woken up to find that her space heater had short-circuited. She threw on a pair of thick leggings and a fleece hoodie, tugged gloves over her cold-reddened hands, and ate her cereal in silence. It was her twenty-sixth birthday.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When she finally made it to their rehearsal venue, teeth chattering and a mug of cold coffee in hand, she was already five minutes late and Judy was nowhere to be found. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Morning, Chris,” she greeted the choreographer, “Have you seen Judy?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked up from his notes, “Nope. Probably got held up in traffic.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jen crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. Chris was a God awful liar and it wasn’t hard to tell when he wasn’t being forthcoming. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Judy doesn’t drive.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not Judy’s keeper,” he shrugged, “Doesn’t she live in the same building as you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not until next month. </span>
  <em>
    <span>C’mon</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Chris,” she whined, “Whatever it is that you two are playing at, I’m not in the mood. Judy and I are still getting tripped up on some of the floorwork from last week and we’re running out of time. We have so much to cover today.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He raised an eyebrow, “How about you give her five more minutes before you bring out the big guns, Sarge.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She let out a huff and yanked off her snow-soaked hoodie and leggings, tossing them against the wall before adjusting her sports bra and spandex shorts and storming over to the barre to start warming up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Just as she was about to lose it on Chris — still sitting cross-legged in the corner with his notebook and a permanent smirk on his face — Jen was startled by the sound of the door slamming behind her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Surprise!” a familiar voice called out and Jen spun on her heels to find Judy beaming with a tray of cupcakes balanced precariously in her arms and a metallic gift bag dangling from her free hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s all this for?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not much of a party, but happy birthday, Jen.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For a moment, Jen thought she might cry, as pathetic as that would’ve been. The last birthday she’d celebrated was her nineteenth. It wasn’t like she had anything against birthdays, she’d just always found the idea of planning a party for herself weirdly self-involved and pointless.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You remembered my birthday?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Duh,” she looked at Jen as if the alternative was insane, “You don’t look a day over twenty-five, by the way.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chris sauntered over then, smug as hell, and gave Jen a shove, “Happy birthday, you old hag.” Jen scowled and he turned to Judy, “You’re lucky I covered for you. Jen was about to go storm the streets looking for you. All peroxide and hellfire.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m a natural blonde, </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Jen shoved him back, “Dickhead.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sucked his teeth, “I don’t know, honey. You’re getting a little brassy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She held up her middle finger in response and turned her attention to Judy. She watched as Judy set the tray of cupcakes down on the small table at the back of the studio and turned back to face her with an easy smile. Something about the way Judy’s eyes and nose crinkled with the action triggered a swell of warmth in her chest. Judy had remembered her birthday. Judy had </span>
  <em>
    <span>cared</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She joined Judy by the table, grabbing a cupcake from the tray and taking a bite. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You really didn’t have to do this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Judy shrugged, “I wanted to. You haven’t even seen the best part.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And what’s that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Judy answered her question by shoving the bag she’d been holding into Jen’s arms and Jen chuckled as she rifled through the crumpled newspaper pages Judy had used as tissue paper. She unfolded one carefully, placing it down on the table and smoothing it out, “Gosh, I had no idea the stock market was </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>bad.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, stop it!” Judy cackled, “Just reach in, you ass.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jen did as she was told and pulled out a piece of black fabric covered in thousands of tiny crystals. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What is this?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s your costume for Melfest,” she explained, her voice giddy, “Well, half of it at least.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jen’s eyes widened as she watched the light dance across the crystals, “Holy shit.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Judy’s eyes gleamed mischievously, “Wanna try, ‘em on?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re goddamn right I do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After five minutes of fighting to pull the tight pants up over her ass and jam her tits into the </span>
  <em>
    <span>very minimalist</span>
  </em>
  <span> bralette while Judy yelled at her from the next stall over not to look until they were back in the rehearsal room, Jen finally stumbled out of the bathroom and made her way back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’d kept her promise to Judy — she </span>
  <em>
    <span>hadn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>looked, but that also meant she had no idea what she looked like in the strappy, suffocating ensemble. Sucking in a breath, she pulled her hair out of its high ponytail and shook it out before opening the door cautiously.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The first thing she saw was Judy. Her dark hair was pushed over one shoulder as she fiddled with the tie on her shirt, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>holy shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>, how had Jen never noticed that Judy had such an incredible body? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looked up and Jen turned her head to the side quickly, embarrassed to have been caught staring.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Holy shit, Jen,” Judy breathed, “You look amazing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So do you,” she replied, her words coming out quiet and tender.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“C’mere,” Judy instructed, waving Jen over to where she stood by the mirror. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jen joined her and finally took in her own reflection, feeling a chill run down her spine. All she could do was stand there and stare at the two of them side by side in the mirror. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re really doing this,” Jen spoke finally, breaking the silence. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Judy grabbed her hand and squeezed, “Together.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was intimate in a way that Jen couldn’t explain. In that moment, it was as tangible to Jen as the cold silver of Judy’s rings pressed against her knuckles — with Judy by her side, nothing was impossible. They could win. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Together,” Jen echoed. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Their first performance was terrifying. Jen didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>get </span>
  </em>
  <span>stage fright. They’d rehearsed their song so many times it was pure muscle memory, every step and note engraved in her mind. Still, as they watched the act before them from the side of the stage, Jen’s heart began to race, her hands shaky and damp with sweat. They had less than thirty seconds before they’d have to be on that stage and three and a half minutes to prove they deserved to stay. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her discomfort must have been palpable, because before she could protest, Judy’s arms were around her, firm and protective, her face buried in Jen’s neck. It was one of those moments that didn’t make any sense — she could still feel her pulse pounding in her throat, but suddenly she was laughing, covering her her mouth with her hand to muffle the sound because Judy smelled like </span>
  <em>
    <span>Aqua Net</span>
  </em>
  <span> and her skin was tacky from the body glitter she’d doused herself in. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” she wheezed, “It just smells so fucking bad.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jen could feel each short burst of hot air on her neck and the expansion of Judy’s ribcage pressing against her as she struggled to contain her own laughter. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey,” she swallowed hard, collecting herself, “If it was good enough for my mom’s bouffant, it’s good enough for us.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was fitting, in some strange way, that this was the first time Judy had ever hugged her — the first time Jen had allowed herself to be held in years. When the song ended, it was as if time had stopped entirely and Jen focused on the pendulum swing of Judy’s steady heartbeat, letting it ground her. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Together,” Judy whispered into her ear, and then she was gone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As she walked out into the blinding stage lights, Jen held onto the taste of hairspray in her mouth and the sticky glitter on her palms. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Together. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>After everything was said and done, they clamoured into Jen’s scuffed up Grand Am sweaty, sparkling, and entranced. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>did that</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Jen yelled, banging her hand against the steering wheel. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh man,” Judy threw her head back staring up at the night sky through the sunroof, “You’re still Jenny from the block though, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know it, baby,” she grinned, patting the crystals on her costume, “Don’t be fooled by the rocks that I got.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So you totally couldn’t tell that my boob almost fell out during the floor portion, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jen shook her head, “You’re good. We probably would’ve gotten some extra points for that, though — just something to keep in mind for the semi-finals.” Before Judy could respond, Jen gasped, cranking up the radio, “I fucking love this song.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Judy turned to her, her face a mask of horror, “What </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>this?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jen just drummed on the steering wheel, screaming along with the song.</span>
</p>
<p><em><span>Cut</span></em> <em><span>my life into pieces, this is my last resort. Suffocation, no breathing, don’t give a fuck if I cut my arm bleeding.</span></em></p>
<p>
  <span>“Jen, this is God awful. Is </span>
  <em>
    <span>this </span>
  </em>
  <span>what you’re always listening to when we warm up?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s Papa Roach, weirdo. I saw them at Third Encore last summer.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I saw Sugar Ray and Matchbox Twenty two years ago.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jen shot her a look, “Mention Sugar Ray in my car one more time and you can walk home.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, come on,” she pouted, “They have a couple good songs.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They don’t have a single good song.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Matchbox Twenty though,” she tried, “Unwell? 3AM?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nope.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Push?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not if I’m sober.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hummed, reclining her seat with an audible clunk and pulling her legs up to rest on the dashboard before responding, “I can work with that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jesus, by all means make yourself comfortable,” Jen scoffed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t long before they’d reached their apartment complex and stumbled up the stairs to the fourth floor. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And </span>
  <em>
    <span>this </span>
  </em>
  <span>is where I get off,” Judy announced, gesturing to the door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The fourth floor is so </span>
  <em>
    <span>boring</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Jen teased, “You miss out on a whole flight of good old fashioned cardio every day.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And thank God for that,” she chuckled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Goodnight, Judy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Night, Jen,” she replied before pausing at the stairwell’s exit, “Unless you wanted to come in for a drink? I know you’re more of a vodka girl, but I’ve got prosecco.” As an afterthought, she added, “No pressure, though. I really don’t mind drinking alone.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jen shook her head, leaning against the railing, “That’s the saddest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She cringed, “Sounded less pathetic in my head.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sure. </span>
  <em>
    <span>One </span>
  </em>
  <span>drink,” she acquiesced, “And only because the visual of you sitting there all alone necking a bottle of poor man’s champagne is fucking grim.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Judy gave her a curious smile and Jen narrowed her eyes, “What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not gonna say it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just fucking say it, Judy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Judy bit her lip, “That’s soft.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jen just scowled and followed her to 415. It was one of the vacant apartments Jen had toured before moving into the building. It was in slightly better shape than her own but featured a bleak view directly into the concrete exterior of a neighbouring high-rise that Jen had decided was worth the extra flight of stairs to avoid. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Jen had secretly anticipated, one drink turned into two bottles split evenly between the both of them. Jen tended to be a creature of habit with her drink choices and when it came to vodka she could drink most people under the table without making a fool of herself. Evidently, she and Judy had </span>
  <em>
    <span>both</span>
  </em>
  <span> severely underestimated prosecco.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t long before Judy had turned on the stereo, handing Jen an empty wine bottle for a microphone and dragging her in circles in the small apartment, the two of them breaking into fits of giggles as they danced around furniture and appliances. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So when you’re near me, darling can’t you hear me, SOS!” Judy whipped her hair, oblivious to the strands stuck in her lip gloss. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jen tipped her head back, holding the impromptu microphone high, “The love you gave me, nothing else can save me, SOS!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“When you’re gone,” they sang in harmony, Jen grinning when she realized that, even as drunk as she was, Judy had still given her the melody, “How can I even try to go on?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A strange look flickered across Judy’s face and Jen paled. She knew that look. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck no</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Judy,” she yelled, “Bathroom! Now!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Judy immediately tossed the wine bottle onto the couch and sprinted through the open bathroom door, falling to her knees in front of the toilet. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, for the love of God. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jen let out a huff, turned off the stereo, and trudged over to the bathroom, kneeling next to Judy wordlessly and pulling her thick hair back from her face. Judy retched into the toilet again, her body trembling, and Jen honestly </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>feel a little bad for her. She clearly wasn’t a drinker and Jen had set a pretty strong precedent, downing her own drinks in rapid succession and leaving Judy to follow suit. Jen was pleasantly drunk and Judy was — well, she obviously wasn’t having a good time anymore. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After a few more minutes of heaving, Judy pulled back from the toilet bowl and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is so embarrassing,” she sniffled, her words slurring together, “M’sorry, Jen.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s all good,” Jen replied, “You’re fine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Judy let out a mirthless laugh, “Clearly </span>
  <em>
    <span>not. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I’m a mess. This is so </span>
  <em>
    <span>gross</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jen took in Judy’s current state — mascara streaked under her bloodshot eyes, hair fucked up beyond belief. It was a little tragic. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, uh,” she grimaced, totally lost when it came to the art of comforting drunk people, “You’re a little… </span>
  <em>
    <span>schwastey</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Judy sniffed again, her lower lip jutting out in a pout and Jen shifted to grab a makeup wipe from the pack on Judy’s sink. She brought the wipe to Judy’s face, fighting the urge to roll her eyes when she nuzzled her cheek into Jen’s palm, closing her eyes. It was a shameless bid for physical comfort — catlike and childish. Jen couldn’t tell if she was annoyed or endeared by the gesture, but either way it was getting late and she was aching to get back home and scrub the pounds of crusted hairspray from her scalp.   </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Help me out here, Judy,” she sighed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Judy’s eyes opened, half-lidded and glassy, “But I’m comfy. Your hand’s so soft.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s a makeup wipe,” Jen had no idea why she was trying to explain anything to Judy in her current state, but she pushed on nonetheless, “Just hold your head up for a sec, okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Reluctantly, she did as Jen instructed and Jen carefully placed two fingers underneath her chin to stop her head from lolling forward. She reached out with a tentative hand, gently wiping away the remnants of her mascara before dragging the wipe across her parted lips. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally satisfied, she sat back on her heels, trying her best to ignore the way Judy was staring up at her. It felt charged somehow, but Judy was hammered and God only knew what was going through her head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re so beautiful,” she breathed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jen quirked an eyebrow. It was becoming apparent that Judy was the worst of all drunks — not just a sloppy drunk, but an </span>
  <em>
    <span>affectionate</span>
  </em>
  <span> drunk. The kind of drunk who’d grab you by the waist in a public bathroom to tell you your hair looked pretty and, </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘oh my God, you should really love yourself more’</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It was harmless, kind of sweet, actually, but Jen had always had her issues with unwanted physical contact. It made her skin crawl. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Judy leaned forward, placing a hand on Jen’s thigh for balance, and brought the other to the back of her neck, pulling her in. With the reflexes of someone with sinuses full of the scent of vomit and an incapacitated woman on top of her, Jen shoved her palm directly into Judy’s face. Judy squeaked and fell back into the wall, steadying herself with a weak grip on the toilet basin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re so </span>
  <em>
    <span>tired</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Jen spoke deliberately. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>No</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I’m not,” Judy protested. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re gonna have to trust me on this one. Can you stand up?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Judy could not, in fact, stand up, so Jen settled for looping an arm under her shoulders and supporting most of her weight as she staggered over to the bed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mm,” Judy shot her a goofy grin, “Have you been working out?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jen only watched in amusement as she took a clumsy step, wobbled, and pitched back onto the mattress. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Watch your step, Casanova.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Too late,” Judy groaned, curling in on herself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once she was certain that Judy wasn’t in any real danger of face planting onto the floor, she wandered into the kitchen and started to run damage control on the situation. After rifling through Judy’s cupboards and cursing the fact that she’d seemingly chosen to arrange her belongings in the most nonsensical way possible, she managed to procure a large mixing bowl, a glass of water, and two ibuprofen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She placed the bowl on the floor next to the bed and the water and ibuprofen on the end table. Hopefully Judy wouldn’t need the puke bowl, but she’d definitely need the pills in the morning. She was still awake, but barely, laying on her back staring up at the stucco ceiling as her eyes fluttered open and shut. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you gonna be alright if I head home now?” Jen asked carefully, “I put a bowl next to your bed and a glass of water and some ibuprofen on the table here. If you need anything, I’ll probably be up for a while so you can just call.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll be fine,” Judy reassured her, “Thanks. For the water, and for... everything.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright then,” she smiled weakly, “Get some rest and I’ll see you tomorrow.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jen didn’t know how she’d slipped so easily into the role of a caretaker. She never did shit like this — </span>
  <em>
    <span>hated</span>
  </em>
  <span> the idea of having to look after someone because they couldn’t handle their liquor — but Judy had seemed so sick and helpless. Like she needed someone, and who else did she have in Stockholm? She’d never thought about it before, but it occurred to her then that Judy didn’t have family or friends here. She was completely alone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hesitated at the door, and as if reading her mind, Judy spoke up, “Jen?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s up?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you ever get lonely here? Sometimes I feel like I’m the only one.” Her voice was soft despite the prominent slur — hesitant, like she worried she was crossing a line by asking. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you mean?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Judy sighed, “I don’t know. My mom always said I was too needy. It’s why she didn’t want me around.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jen took a deep breath and exhaled, turning around and returning to sit on the floor against Judy’s bed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re not the same, Judy. That doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So you don’t?” she asked seriously, “Get lonely, I mean.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jen considered her words carefully. Chances were, Judy wouldn’t remember this in the morning. Maybe for once she could just tell the truth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve been alone for a long time,” was all she could think to say. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Me too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She let her head fall back against the mattress, scratching at the uneven texture of the faux-wood floor with her fingernails. She didn’t know how long she sat there in silence waiting for Judy to fall asleep, but the next thing she knew, birds were chirping outside the window, daylight was streaming in through the drawn blinds, and her eyes shot open. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>How she’d managed to pass out in such an uncomfortable position was beyond her, but her back was absolutely fucking killing her, her head was pounding, and her hair was definitely cemented to her neck in a way that would require multiple washes. She rubbed her eyes, her hands coming away smudged black with mascara, and cursed under her breath. Admittedly, she’d been having a surprisingly good time up until Judy completely lost her faculties and spiralled into a prosecco-induced depression. She wasn’t completely opposed to spending time with her outside of rehearsals again — sleeping on the floor was pretty brutal, but at least Judy hadn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>cried </span>
  </em>
  <span>or anything</span>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jen stood up slowly, the crack of her knees resounding through the tiny apartment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jen?” Judy mumbled, rolling onto her side and clumsily brushing the hair out of her face, “Did you sleep on the floor?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“More of a nap, really.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Judy frowned, “Please tell me I didn’t do anything awful last night. I mean, what I </span>
  <em>
    <span>do </span>
  </em>
  <span>remember is pretty embarrassing and that’s never a good sign.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh no, you were great,” Jen replied in a light tone, “You told me you were in love with me, you’d just </span>
  <em>
    <span>die </span>
  </em>
  <span>without me — the usual.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>No</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Judy paled, “You’re joking, Jen. Please tell me you’re joking.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jen laughed, loud and unrestrained, “I’m totally bullshitting you, but you should’ve seen your face.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Seriously?” Judy groaned, “You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>such </span>
  </em>
  <span>an asshole.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe,” Jen hummed, “But I did take care of your drunk ass, so I think I get some points for that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Judy’s expression softened, “Thank you for that. Honestly. You didn’t have to, but I appreciate it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, after you puked all over yourself and then immediately tried to make out with me, I kind of figured you probably shouldn’t be left alone.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Judy covered her face in her hands, “Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>God</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Chin up, kiddo. Happens to the best of us.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can I at least make you breakfast?” Judy offered. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jen shook her head, “I’ve got a meeting with Lorna in a couple of hours and I think there’s Aqua Net embedded in my scalp.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Double wash it,” Judy instructed, “Rinse </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>repeat.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That was the plan.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Jen walked out of the apartment, she heard Judy call after her, “I’m usually really responsible! It won’t happen again, I swear.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jen chuckled, “Better fucking not, Judy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After that morning, they slipped into a comfortable routine. Jen discovered that Judy, too, had trouble sleeping. During the day, they’d rehearse like their lives depended on it, pushing their bodies to their breaking points, and at night Jen would sit against the wall in her apartment icing her sore muscles with Judy on the phone. She started laughing more — found herself cracking jokes with Chris in rehearsals, singing in the car while Judy laughed and begged her to change the station. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>During their phone calls, she began to understand that Judy’s unrelenting optimism and generosity weren’t a product of naiveté, it was just how she coped. Jen didn’t open up — didn’t talk about her dead mother, her absent father, or the fears that plagued her — but sometimes, late at night, the past seemed to spill out of Judy like blood from an open wound. Her mother was an addict, in and out of jail since Judy was a child. She started writing music when she was fourteen in her second foster home. Her foster parents were piano teachers who’d taught her how to read sheet music, but two years after Judy’s arrival they gave birth to their own child and she was placed with a new family. Judy talked a lot about family — the concept of a home and how she was still looking for hers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jen slowly came to realize that Judy, the woman she’d treated like an unwelcome intrusion for the better part of nine months, wasn’t the person she thought she was. If she really thought about it, her and Judy weren’t all that different — in action, sure, but the root of it all was eerily similar. They were two orphans, in a way, still growing into themselves, still learning how to make peace with the heaviness of it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Judy didn’t know this, of course, but Jen did, and something changed. She still teased Judy — poking fun at her for every mention of astrology as a legitimate science, her completely unironic love for Duran Duran, or the vegan takeout she’d sometimes bring to rehearsals that tasted like salted cardboard. The difference now was the lack of bite to her insults — Jen </span>
  <em>
    <span>liked </span>
  </em>
  <span>Judy, like, really fucking liked Judy in the sense that she’d probably physically fight anyone else if they mocked her the way Jen did. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something had </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely</span>
  </em>
  <span> changed, and for once Jen wasn’t interested in questioning it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>apologies in advance to anybody who somehow avoided watching newlyweds: nick and jessica between the years of 2003 and 2005. moment of silence for judy’s t9 nokia.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Some higher power must have been looking out for Jen, because semi-finals went without a hitch and in just 18 hours they’d be performing at Melfest for the last time. Lately it felt like every time she and Judy got on stage, they became less themselves and more something else entirely — each of them anticipating the other’s every move and every note. Judy had been the one to point it out, babbling on about how it felt like they shared a body in some way, like a <em>soul tie</em>, whatever that meant. Jen was getting better every day at tuning Judy out whenever words like ‘mindfulness’ and ‘spiritual alignment’ started popping up in conversation. According to Judy, Jen had a blocked heart chakra and, according to Judy, chakras had <em>nothing</em> to do with Chaka Khan.</p><p>Woo-woo shit aside, Jen had danced with five companies over the years and had sang in more than a few vocal groups and church choirs (and one ill-fated punk rock band in the late nineties) — she knew what it meant to perform as a part of a whole, but it had never felt so effortless. The fear that maybe they’d come this far only to get knocked out in the finals still hung heavy in her mind — there was a soloist who’d made it through with a vocal range that put Jen’s to shame, and <em> of course </em> she’d entered with a fucking power ballad — but she pushed it down as best she could. They’d made it to the finals, so maybe she couldn’t belt a G7 like fucking Mariah Carey, but clearly she was doing <em> something </em>right. </p><p>“Turn on MTV,” Judy instructed, “Newlyweds is on.”</p><p>“I couldn’t give less of a shit about Nick Lachey, Judy. The best thing 98 Degrees ever did was break up.”</p><p>“They’re on an extended hiatus!”</p><p>“Yeah, well, I hope it <em> extends </em>until I’m dead,” she adjusted the ice pack on her leg, wincing at the sting, “And Jessica Simpson’s a fucking idiot.”</p><p>“That’s, <em> sorry </em>,” she paused and Jen could hear the distinctive sound of chewing on Judy’s end, “That’s totally the whole point.”</p><p>“Are you eating?”</p><p>“Yeah, I made brownies,” she explained, “Couldn’t sleep.”</p><p>“And by <em> brownies </em> you mean…”</p><p>Judy snorted, “The ones that make you sleep. Want some? I can run them up.”</p><p>“I’m not really a drugs person.”</p><p>Judy hummed in approval, “Fair. Will you at least watch the episode with me, though? <em> C’mon </em>, I already know you’re awake.”</p><p>“Fine,” Jen huffed, “Call me back on my cell. I have unlimited minutes after ten.”</p><p>“I didn’t know you had a cell phone.”</p><p>“It’s 2005, Judy, of course I have a fucking cell phone.”</p><p>“Well, you never gave me your number,” Judy pointed out. </p><p><em> Ah, fuck. </em>Jen racked her mind for an excuse, coming up short, “Yeah, that’s because, um…”</p><p>“You didn’t want me texting you,” she finished knowingly. </p><p>“That’s not entirely it,” Jen floundered, “It was more that Lorna would call me every hour of every day if she could, so I gave you <em> both </em> my landline and then after a while I figured it would kind of just,” she trailed off, “You know, like, at that point it would probably just be insulting?”</p><p>She braced herself for Judy’s response, letting out a trapped breath when Judy only chuckled, “Guess I finally made it past the nine month probationary period. <em> Phew </em>.”</p><p>“You know me. Always doing things by the book around here.”</p><p>“No shit,” she laughed, “Okay, go to channel nine and call me back.”</p><p>Jen hung up and grabbed the remote off of its perch on top of the TV, turning on MTV before flopping down onto the couch and cuddling into her thick wool blanket. She felt like an idiot and, even worse, like a massive asshole. Maybe Judy wasn’t angry with her, but that didn’t mean Jen hadn’t been a bit of a dick to her for far longer than anyone would consider acceptable. Three months short of a year was a long time to treat someone you spent every day with like a reluctant acquaintance. </p><p>She took out her BlackBerry and dialed Judy’s number. It was fitting, the list of numbers she knew by heart: her own, her parents’ old landline, her childhood best friend, a few corporate numbers from irritating television jingles, and Judy. Before Jen had even become cognizant of it, Judy had maneuvered her way into her life like she belonged there all along. Like the missing puzzle piece, as cliché as it sounded — the friend Jen hadn’t realized she needed. </p><p>Judy answered on the first ring, “Are you watching?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Jen admitted begrudgingly, “You know this is all bullshit, right? <em> As if </em>he put that much effort into their anniversary. He looks like a frat boy who blew his trust fund at a titty bar.”</p><p>Judy scoffed, “<em> Obviously. </em>They probably hate each other. It’s hilarious.”</p><p>Jen was only half paying attention to the show, thoughts of tomorrow’s performance running through her mind on an agonizing loop. </p><p>“Jessica looks great though,” she remarked, “Maybe I should try out the Atkins diet. I’ve gained five pounds off take-out this month.”</p><p>“I knew it,” Judy giggled, “You totally watch this show.”</p><p>Jen could feel herself smiling, sinking deeper into the soft couch and pulling her knees into her chest. Judging by the airy tone of her voice and the way she struggled to get through a sentence without cracking herself up, Judy’s brownies had obviously kicked in. </p><p>“Holy shit,” she wheezed, trying in vain to catch her breath, “Remember chicken by the sea? <em> Anal </em>seafood?”</p><p>Jen snorted, “So fucking stupid.”</p><p>“Oh my<em> Gah!” </em> Judy mimicked and Jen wasn’t sure if it was one too many sleepless nights or the generous glass of vodka she’d paired with a box of left-over stir fry in an attempt to calm her nerves, but her composure broke. </p><p>“<em> Stop it </em>, Judy,” she cackled, “I’m trying to think!”</p><p>“About what?” Judy queried, her tone only slightly more serious than before. </p><p>“About tomorrow. <em> Christ </em>, I’m not worried about Elias, really. He’s talented, bless his heart, but the song’s lackluster. It’s fucking —“</p><p>“Sofia? I can’t stand her. <em> God, </em>” she moaned, “She belts that C6 like it’s nothing.”</p><p>“<em> Sofia </em> ,” Jen confirmed, “Don’t fucking <em> compliment </em> her, Judy. Ew.”</p><p>“Oh, so you don’t agree?” she prodded, and Jen could picture the teasing glint in her eye, “You’re <em> not </em> talking about Sofia while I’m trying to enjoy Nick and Jessica’s anniversary because she’s super hot and has the voice of an angel?”</p><p>“She’s not that hot,” Jen grumbled, “Not my type, at least.”</p><p>“Well, now I’m curious.”</p><p>“Her dad’s a fucking oil tycoon. Whole career bankrolled by Daddy’s offshore fracking money. Every time someone fantasizes about Sofia, a village in Libya runs out of clean drinking water.”</p><p>Judy choked, “How do you even <em> know </em> that?”</p><p>“I Googled her,” Jen admitted. </p><p>“Because…”</p><p>“Because she belts that C6 like it’s <em> fucking </em> nothing.”</p><p>“Well,” Judy started, “I happen to know someone who can totally show her up tomorrow and <em> hasn’t </em> had a hand in destroying the environment, so that’s pretty neat.”</p><p>“Oh, really? Is she gonna take my place?”</p><p>“Stop it, Jen. I know you’re scared. I’m scared too but Sofia isn’t <em> you </em> —“</p><p>“I really don’t need a pep talk right now.”</p><p>“I think you do. Every time I walk onto that stage I just thank God it’s with you,” Judy spoke earnestly, “You’re incredible — I mean, <em> fuck </em> , you’re so beautiful it’s actually <em> stupid </em>and, sure, Sofia has the range, but nobody has your voice. Nobody performs like you. I should know — my entire life lately has just been me killing myself trying to keep up with you.”</p><p>“<em> Oh </em>,” she breathed, “Maybe I did need that.”</p><p>“Well, it’s the truth. If Elias or Lilli or fucking Sofia came up to me tomorrow and asked me to compete with them, I would still choose you. I would <em> always </em>choose you.”</p><p>Jen felt her chest tighten — she didn’t know <em> what </em>she was feeling, but it was achingly soft, saccharine, and warmer than anything she’d felt in a while. </p><p>
  <em> I would always choose you.  </em>
</p><p>“That’s not how the contest works,” she replied weakly, “You can’t just form a new band for the —“</p><p>Judy shushed her, “Not the point, Jen.”</p><p>“I know. I’m not scared, by the way — just tense. I didn’t stretch properly this morning<em> . </em>”</p><p>“Sure,” Judy allowed the excuse, clearly not believing it for a second, “<em>I’m</em> scared, but it’s not a bad thing. It just means you care — and how lucky are we to have something like this to care about?”</p><p>“I don’t know, Oprah,” Jen grumbled, “Pretty fucking lucky? Seriously, where did you get that? Super Soul Sunday?”</p><p>Judy chuckled, “No, actually. <em> Feel the Fear and Do It Anyway </em>. It’s a great book.”</p><p>“Oh, I’m sure.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The green room was abuzz with nervous energy as the champagne flowed and anxious finalists crowded around the TV, waiting for the televotes to be calculated. Jen felt like she was crawling out of her skin — they’d done better in the semi-finals. She was flat on a few notes and had fucked up her mix in the first chorus. It was too <em> heady </em>; not a true belt, just a frail imitation of one. They’d recovered well, but Jen had ruined it for both of them right out of the gates. Maybe Judy hadn’t noticed, but she had a good feeling she did. Either way, she was about to find out. </p><p>“So whoever gets the public vote wins, right?” Judy whispered, white-knuckling her glass. </p><p>Jen turned slightly in an attempt to avoid the cameras, “Usually. Half of the vote comes from international juries, but it generally doesn’t swing once they’ve added them.”</p><p>“So this is it.”</p><p>“Yep,” Jen took a sip of her champagne, “This is it.”</p><p>The screen lit up and suddenly the walls felt like they were closing in, the sound of gleeful screams ringing in her ears. The only thing that registered to her was the white letters on the screen. </p><p>
  <em> Sofia Lind.  </em>
</p><p>She brought her hands together, clapping as if she couldn’t feel the world crumbling around her.</p><p>Jen wanted to walk out — wanted to scream and put her fist through a wall if it would rid her of this awful ache in her gut. Unless the competition had been close in the public vote, there was no way the juries would change the outcome. They were going to lose and it was <em> Jen’s fault.  </em></p><p>“I can’t do this,” Jen muttered, a fake smile plastered on her face for the videographer’s sake. </p><p>“<em> Wait </em>,” Judy replied, her voice hushed, “Just wait, okay? There’s still a chance.”</p><p>“No, I <em> can’t </em>do this. There’s no fucking chance, Judy.”</p><p>“<em> Jen </em>,” she placed a hand on Jen’s thigh and she flinched, causing Judy to pull away as if she’d been burned. </p><p>Suddenly, Judy’s eyes were wide, still locked on the TV screen, and she shrieked, “Jen!”</p><p>Jen looked up, her breath catching in her throat. The jury vote <em> had </em>swung it. </p><p>
  <em> Jen Harding and Judy Hale.  </em>
</p><p>She leapt out of her seat and pulled Judy into a suffocating hug. Judy was crying hot tears against her neck and Jen could feel her own threatening to spill over. When she pulled back, Judy was grinning — smiling so wide it looked painful, matching dimples in both of her wet cheeks on full display. She wasn’t sure who leaned in first, whether it was her or Judy, but before she knew what was happening, Judy’s arms were around her neck and she was kissing her. Jen smiled into the kiss and broke away laughing, her free hand still gripping Judy’s waist like a lifeline. </p><p>“Oh my God,” Judy laughed, breathy and manic, “I spilled my champagne!”</p><p>“I’ll buy a fucking bottle,” Jen choked out, “We <em> won </em>.”</p><p>It wasn’t long before they were drawn into the throng of politely cheering singers and, yeah, maybe Jen even accepted a few hugs because <em> holy shit.  </em></p><p>As they walked out the door with their heads held high and faced the flashing cameras and cheering crowd, Jen turned to Judy, a wry smile on her lips, “It’s a new day, Judy.”</p><p>Judy bit her lip, her eyes gleaming, “We’re going to Eurovision.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“This is going to be a challenge,” Lorna explained, “You didn’t get the public vote and neither of you have a European following — any following at all, really.”</p><p><em> Rub it in, why don’t you? </em>Jen pushed her sleep mask up to her forehead and turned to Lorna. She wasn’t a fan of flying in the first place, but six hours on a plane would have been infinitely more tolerable without Lorna’s grating voice in her ear. </p><p>“I’m aware.”</p><p>“You need to generate a buzz. You need to be seen and you <em> can’t </em>be boring.”</p><p>“What does that look like?” Judy cut in.</p><p>“Well,” Lorna took a breath, as if continuing pained her, “I don’t believe it was a particularly well-thought out plan, but what you did in the green room at Melfest was bold. It got people talking.”</p><p>What the fuck was Lorna talking about? Judy spilling her champagne on the carpet? <em> Oh. </em>The kiss. </p><p>Jen scoffed, “We’d get the Russian vote <em> for sure </em>.”</p><p>Lorna rolled her eyes, “They’ll vote Scandinavian either way.”</p><p>“You’re not seriously suggesting —“</p><p>“I’m not <em> suggesting </em> anything — merely reminding the both of you that there’s no way you stand a chance unless you give people a reason to root for you.”</p><p>Judy leaned out from her window seat to look at Lorna, “I’m lost. <em> What </em> exactly do you want us to do?”</p><p>“It doesn’t matter because it’s not happening,” Jen replied with finality. </p><p>Lorna just smiled tersely, “Very well. Whatever you choose to do, I’ll be expecting to see you in the tabloids. Do you think you can manage that, Jennifer?”</p><p>Jen gritted her teeth, “I’m sure we can figure something out.”</p><p>She and Judy had been in shock that night and it wasn’t <em> weird </em>that they’d kissed. It wasn’t a ploy for attention, it was just something that had happened. They’d just found out they were being sent to Kyiv, Ukraine to compete in the Eurovision Song Contest for fuck sake — a high five was hardly fucking appropriate. That didn’t mean she wanted to play it up and convince the world she was screwing Judy to get a few virtue signal votes.</p><p>She wished more than anything that Lorna had just stayed the fuck home, but save for throwing her out the airlock (a tempting idea), there was nothing Jen could do about it. She pulled her mask back down over her eyes and sunk into the uncomfortable airline seat. This was going to be a <em> long </em> flight. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Jen took one last look in the bathroom mirror, unsure how she felt about the fact that she currently couldn’t recognize herself. She’d painted her lips a deep red, smoked out her eyeshadow, and curled her hair until she was sure the smell of smoke and burnt hairspray had completely overpowered her perfume. There was so much foundation on her face she imagined she’d crack like a tempera painting if she so much as smiled, and the dress she’d bought that afternoon, a shade darker than her lips, clung to her body like the Kinesio tape she wrapped her wrists and knees with every morning before rehearsal. She looked like a goddamn <em> airhead </em> — perfectly vapid in a pair of fuck me heels — but if this was what it took to get Lorna off her back, she’d grin and bear it. </p><p>She knocked the door open with her shoulder and stormed out, finding Judy watching TV in a patterned maxi-dress and sandals. Judy looked up at the sudden noise, her eyes widening comically when she saw Jen. </p><p>“What?” Jen barked, an hour and a half in the bathroom having whittled her patience down to nothing. </p><p>“Nothing,” Judy replied quickly.</p><p>Jen brought a hand to her hip, “You think it looks stupid.”</p><p>“<em> No, </em>” Judy stammered, “The neckline,” she gestured to her own chest, making a V with her index finger, “It’s really flattering. I think I missed the memo, though.”</p><p>“Listen,” Jen sighed, “I know I was supposed to come up with a <em> plan </em> or something, but this is the best I’ve got. What you’ve got going on here is,” she searched for the words, “It’s adorable, but it’s very <em> Little House on the Prairie </em>and we’re going for Pretty Woman. I don’t like it any more than you do. I can’t even fucking bend over in this thing.”</p><p>Judy frowned, “I don’t have anything like that.”</p><p>“Well then, I guess we’ll just have to improvise,” Jen replied, resolute. She wandered over to the closet on her side of their hotel room and yanked open the door, pulling out a black dress that had always fit snug in her waist and tossing it in Judy’s direction. With a satisfied smile, she plunked down onto her bed and crossed her legs, leaning back on her elbows.</p><p>“Oh, God,” Judy held the dress up in front of her, “This is… short.”</p><p>“On <em> me </em>. Mid-thigh on you. You’ll be fine.”</p><p>Jen waited patiently for her to retreat to the bathroom to change, but Judy only looked down, sliding the straps of her dress over her shoulders and letting the bodice fall. She shimmied the dress down her hips and Jen didn’t know why the fuck she hadn’t just looked away, but Judy was standing in front of her in only her black lace bra and matching thong and, <em> Jesus </em>, since when did Judy have fucking abs? It must have been jealousy that Jen was feeling as she took in the curve of Judy’s narrow waist — the way her breasts strained against the lace of her bra, the spattering of freckles across her hip, and the tiny silver moon pendant that hung from her belly ring. </p><p>Judy looked up, catching Jen’s eye in a silent question. </p><p>“Your belly ring,” Jen smiled, hoping it didn’t look as awkward as it felt, “It’s cute.”</p><p>“Oh,” Judy let out a breathy laugh, quickly tugging the new dress on, “Thanks. I used to have a dreamcatcher but it kept getting caught in my jeans. Can you help me with this zipper?”</p><p>Jen hopped up from her bed and made her way over to Judy’s, sitting on the edge and allowing Judy to settle between her thighs. Carefully, she brushed Judy’s hair over her shoulder, exposing her neck and a small black tattoo at the top of her spine that resembled a curved H. Two inverted parentheses and a thin horizontal line cut through the center. For a moment she considered asking what it meant, but she had a feeling it had something to do with astrology and <em> that </em>was a can of worms she wasn’t eager to open. </p><p>“This zipper has always been a pain in the ass,” Jen explained, gathering the silk together at the small of Judy’s back in an attempt to prevent it from snagging. She pulled the zipper up slowly, her nails dragging along Judy’s spine, and Judy sucked in a sharp breath, shuddering at the brief contact. </p><p>“Sorry,” Judy breathed, “Your hands are cold.”</p><p>“No worries,” she replied easily, unsure what Judy was actually apologizing for. One last tug and the zipper was secured, “Turn around?”</p><p>Judy turned, and Jen fought back a groan. Some small part of her had secretly hoped it might gape in the chest or sit just a <em> little </em>too snug on her thighs, but it fit Judy better than it had ever fit her. </p><p>“Looks better on me, but it’ll do,” Jen remarked, earning a knowing look from Judy. </p><p>Judy smoothed her hands down the front of her dress and tugged on the hemline. “Looks like neither of us is bending over tonight,” she chuckled, “If we drop anything it belongs to the floor.”</p><p>“If you do have to bend over, make sure you do it in front of a camera. Lorna’s advice, not mine.”</p><p>Judy reached out and shoved Jen, shooting her a dirty look, “I’m not using my ass to get us into the tabloids, Jen.”</p><p>“That’s a shame. You’ve got a great one.”</p><p>“Oh, so you’ve been looking?” As soon as the words left Judy’s mouth, she was blushing furiously, her eyes downcast. “Sorry,” she mumbled. </p><p>“<em> Why </em> do you keep apologizing?” Jen chided, “Every two seconds it’s <em> oh, Jen, I’m so sorry. </em>You haven’t fucking done anything.”</p><p>“I just don’t know how to talk to you right now,” Judy mumbled. </p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>“I <em> mean </em>you look like someone who would have bullied me in high school.”</p><p>Jen scoffed, “Did they make fun of you for saying you’re sorry like it’s a fucking greeting or something?”</p><p>“No, actually,” Judy replied, something sober in her tone, “It was, um… I was pretty much invisible for most of it. Spent my breaks in the band hall.” </p><p>She looked uncomfortable, like this wasn’t a subject she liked to dwell on, and Jen felt a twinge of guilt for teasing her about it. </p><p>“When I was a junior our choir was selected to compete in Sacramento and I was sharing a hotel room with this senior girl, Jenna. I just fucking idolized her, you know? She always seemed so mature and <em>interesting</em> and one night we were drinking these terrible wine coolers in our room and I sort of… well, I <em>kissed</em> her. When we got back, she told everybody. I mean, nobody like, beat me up or stole my lunch money, but I started eating with my English teacher and changing for gym class in the stalls — they’d all just stare at me and whisper and I knew what they were thinking,” she shook her head bitterly, “God, it was awful.”</p><p>Jen didn’t know what to say. Every new insight into Judy’s childhood painted an even bleaker picture and the whole situation made Jen furious. School had been Jen’s distraction; a place where she could pretend her life was just like everybody else’s, lying through her teeth until she could almost believe the half-truths herself. At school, she’d gossip in the smoking pit with the girls from her dance studio and cut snide remarks to stuffy teachers with a coquettish grin. It was one of the only places where Jen allowed herself a reprieve from thoughts of specialist appointments and hospital bills, but for Judy it was just another place to feel unwanted. Alienated. </p><p>“Did you like her?” Jen asked, unsure why it mattered, “<em> Like </em>her, I mean.”</p><p>If Judy was gay it was none of Jen’s business, really, and why should she care? As far as Jen was concerned, everybody was at least a little bit gay. Shs’d certainly had experiences with women that she’d be hard pressed to frame as platonic. </p><p>“Yeah,” Judy admitted, fidgeting with her rings.</p><p>“I wouldn’t have bullied you, for the record,” Jen clarified, “I was pretty scrappy as a teenager. Probably would’ve taught them a lesson or whatever.”</p><p>Judy chuckled, “I’d love to see that. My knight in shining pointe shoes.”</p><p>“Gross.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Jen leaned against the bar and took a sip of her drink, already weary from the obligatory pleasantries and polite chit-chat with fellow contestants she’d engaged in during her rounds of the party. She hated shit like this — hated how <em> fake </em> it all was. Nobody here was actually interested in befriending the competition, save for maybe Judy, who pranced around the kitschy bar like a true social butterfly, greeting people by name. </p><p>“Jen!” Judy beamed, “I just ran into some friends I’d love for you to meet. They’re representing Russia.”</p><p>Jen glanced over to the two men next to Judy. They were twins, clearly — both unbearably handsome in a contrived way. She extended a hand to the twin closest to her, introducing herself with a curt, “Jen.”</p><p>“So you’re the mysterious Jen I’ve heard so much about,” he gripped her hand firmly, “I’m Steve and this is my brother Ben.”</p><p>“Twins,” she noted, earning a toothy grin from Steve’s brother.</p><p>“Semi-identical,” Ben explained.</p><p>“Interesting,” she replied. It wasn’t. </p><p>“It is, isn’t it?” Judy effused, “Listen, I was thinking maybe you could show Ben around a bit? He wasn’t at the mixer last week.”</p><p>Judy was giving her a look that told Jen she was planning something. With any luck she’d come up with a better publicity stunt than pacing around in circles hoping to end up in the background of a photo. As much as she resented the prospect of being forced to entertain this <em> Ben </em>, blind faith in Judy was all she had left.</p><p>She smiled warmly, “I’d love to.”</p><p>Over the course of an hour, Jen reluctantly learned more about Ben than she’d like to know about anyone. He had a habit of blathering on completely undeterred by Jen’s obvious lack of interest. He and Steve were successful artists in their own right — successful enough, Jen admitted to herself begrudgingly, that Russia probably needed their star power more than they needed Eurovision. </p><p>Jen had an inkling that she’d discovered the reason Judy had set her sights on the pair. They had a loyal fanbase back home, and where there were fans, the paparazzi were never far behind. If her assumption was correct, it was a little bit brilliant and a lot more devious than she expected from Judy. </p><p>From her current vantage point, she could just make out Judy and Steve sitting at the bar. She watched as Judy twirled a strand of hair around her finger and laughed — too hard, honestly, she was sure Steve wasn’t <em> that </em>funny. She couldn’t hear their conversation, but when Judy reached out and gave an appreciative squeeze to Steve’s bicep, Jen’s forced PR smile fell. It felt cheap somehow, like the fawning and obvious ploys should have been beneath Judy — even if they were at least partially for the benefit of the event photographers that had arrived minutes prior. </p><p>“What do you think, though?” Ben prompted and Jen realized with a pang of embarrassment that she hadn’t been listening to him at all. </p><p>“Hm?” she pulled her attention away from Judy and Steve and took a sip of her drink, “Sorry, I didn’t sleep well last night. I think I zoned out for a second.”</p><p>“Oh, gosh, no worries at all,” he brushed it off, “I was just wondering, you know, people seem pretty divided over how important the performance aspect is compared to the song. I think Steve and I would get booed off the stage if we tried to dance, but I saw you and Judy rehearse this morning and,” he let out an awkward chuckle, “<em> Wow </em>.”</p><p>“I don’t know,” Jen admitted, “I’ve been a dancer my whole life and Judy’s a quick study — it just worked for us, I guess.”</p><p>“A dancer,” Ben grinned, “Really? I was in this awesome little church choir as a kid — the Holy Harmonies. Not to toot my own horn or anything, but the church moms used to go crazy for our <em> killer </em>rendition of Signed, Sealed, Delivered by Stevie Wonder.”</p><p>Jen raised an eyebrow and he brought a hand to his heart before reaching for the ceiling dramatically, tipping his head back and tapping the sole of a black patent leather shoe against the floor rhythmically, “<em> Ooh, Jesus, </em> here I am. Signed, sealed, delivered, I’m yours.”</p><p>“That’s, uh,” Jen sucked in a sharp breath, “That’s <em> great </em>, Ben. I’m sure fake Jesus loved it.”</p><p>“So what you’re really saying is Steve and I probably shouldn’t dance.”</p><p>“Correct.”</p><p>Ben was silent for a few moments before speaking again, a little hesitant, “I know you’re only talking to me for the cameras, but I hope I’m not boring you to death. Steve’s always been the fun one.”</p><p>“I guess the cat’s out of the bag on that one,” she sighed, “My manager’s been on my ass about generating a buzz since we got here. I’m an asshole, I know.”</p><p>Ben chuckled, “I know you’re not an asshole. Judy talks about you like you hung the stars in the sky. Speaking of,” he turned his attention to the bar and Jen followed his gaze, “I can’t tell if she’s into him or just playing it up.”</p><p>Ben was a nice guy; painfully genuine and a little too salt of the earth for her own tastes, but she could think of worse company. Namely Steve, who currently had a hand resting on Judy’s bare thigh as he snapped his fingers impatiently for the bartender. </p><p>“No clue, honestly,” Jen replied, surprising herself with the bitterness in her tone.</p><p>“I <em> hate </em> that,” Ben groaned before clarifying, “He’s so rude with bar staff when he’s been drinking. Don’t get me wrong, I love him to death but sometimes he’s just…”</p><p>“An entitled prick?” Jen offered. </p><p>He cringed, “He comes by it honestly. He’s a great guy once you get to know him.”</p><p>She felt herself tense as Steve swiped a finger along Judy’s jaw and brushed her hair back behind her ear. Judy leaned in, connecting their lips, and suddenly the cameras were flashing, press eager to tease something worth selling out of this relatively tame night. </p><p>Jen placed her now empty glass on the table next to her and grabbed a flute of champagne from the tray that had been making its rounds. She downed it in one go with a barely concealed grimace.</p><p>Ben chuckled, “If she’s in it for the free publicity I admire her commitment. That sure was a kiss.”</p><p>“Sure was,” Jen deadpanned, unsure why the spectacle had made her so angry. Judy was a grown woman. She could kiss whoever she wanted. </p><p>“And I’m guessing you probably wouldn’t be interested in…”</p><p>“Not really.”</p><p>“Fair.”</p><p>“That being said, tonight has been a total bust for me, so would you mind —“</p><p>“Hamming it up for the cameras?” he suggested, waving over a photographer. </p><p>She slung her free arm around Ben’s waist, squishing herself into his side, and he brought a hand to the small of her back.</p><p>“Watch your fucking hand, Ben,” she hissed, her smile unwavering.</p><p>“Sorry,” he blushed, pulling it from her back so it hovered a few inches above her skin.</p><p>Once Jen was satisfied she’d created sufficient proof that she was both present at this incredibly lame party and had at the very least done some light mingling with a desirable bachelor (the thought made her cringe), she politely excused herself with a promise to make an appearance at the afterparty for the semi-finals at the end of the week. The concession hadn’t taken much convincing for her to make — Ben <em> had </em> helped her out after all and if she and Judy made it through to the finals it was only logical that they should celebrate. </p><p>She considered telling Judy she was leaving, but one glance over to the bar was enough to change her mind. Judy looked happy; tipsy and giggly, talking to Steve as if there was nowhere else she’d rather be. Judy was freshly twenty-two on an all expenses paid trip to perform for almost two hundred million people, and if she wanted to have fun on one of the rare occasions Jen wasn’t forcing her to rehearse until she collapsed, how could Jen deny her that? Judy deserved a break and, regardless, she was actively getting both of them into Lorna’s good books by flirting up a storm with Russia’s finest.</p><p>The forty-five minutes it took to cab back to the hotel and wash off her makeup were all it took for Jen to spiral. It didn’t make sense that she was still so bitter about what had happened at the party. It wasn’t like she was jealous of Judy — she may not have given Steve much of a chance to prove himself, but she certainly wasn’t attracted to him. She’d been with more Steves than she’d care to admit when she first moved to California; skeezy guys who thought they were God’s gift to the vagina. The experience was always underwhelming. Even Ben, whose entire personality screamed ‘stay-at-home Dad’, was an improvement to Steve. </p><p>She tore off her dress and changed into a pair of loose pyjamas before storming over to the fridge and cracking open one of the mini vodka bottles, tipping it back and finding comfort in the track the cheap liquor burned down her throat. It wasn’t long before she’d cleared out the mini-fridge cross-legged on the floor and realized with a grimace that the shots probably weren’t complementary. If she had to pay, so be it. It was just one of those nights. </p><p>With nothing left to do, she laid back on the carpet and scrolled through her unanswered texts. An organizer at one of the bars she used to play at asking her if she’d be free to fill an empty slot on the weekend. Verizon offering her a payment plan on a new phone to re-up her contract. Some wannabe rapper she’d met at a show asking her to ‘promo his MySpace’. The last was from Judy — Jen must have missed it while she was at the mall looking for a dress.</p><p> </p><p>Judy Hale</p><p>May 10, 2005 11:25</p><p>Borrowed UR discman this morning 4 my run (eek, pls don’t B mad) and OMG track 11?! Reminds me of us :) C U tonite! </p><p> </p><p>She sat up and gave the room a once over, her eyes finally settling on her discman at the foot of her bed. Too lazy to stand up, she crawled over and pulled it down to rest beside her, sliding her headphones over her ears and skipping to track eleven. A loose piece of hotel stationery landed on the floor next to her, ‘Sorry for stealing this, I left mine at home. Promise I kept her safe!’ scrawled out in Judy’s loopy cursive. </p><p>Jen rolled her eyes, folding the paper in half and pressing play on her discman.</p><p>
  <em> I'll show you mine if you show me yours first. Let's compare scars, I'll tell you whose is worse. Let's unwrite these pages and replace them with our own words.  </em>
</p><p>She let out a trapped breath and sunk down, leaning her weight against the bed frame. It was so like Judy to fall in love with the sappiest slow jam on the album. She couldn’t imagine Judy listening to punk rock, but it was fitting that she’d found the outlier — one solitary glimmer of hope buried in all the noise. </p><p>
  <em> We live on front porches and swing life away. We get by just fine here on minimum wage. If love is a labor, I'll slave till the end. I won't cross these streets until you hold my hand.  </em>
</p><p>Jen pulled her phone out of her pants pocket and fired off a text to Judy. </p><p> </p><p>Me:</p><p>May 11, 2005 01:30</p><p>Sorry, didn’t see this. Course it’s the slow jam. Steal my shit again though, I dare you. </p><p> </p><p>Judy’s response was almost instant. As instantly as anyone could reply on the T9 keyboard of a five year old Nokia. Judy had told her once she refused to trade it in until it stopped working entirely. </p><p> </p><p>Judy Hale:</p><p>May 11, 2005 01:31</p><p>Where R U?</p><p> </p><p>Me:</p><p>May 11, 2005 01:32</p><p>I went back to the hotel. I meant to tell you I was leaving but I didn’t want to interrupt. You looked like you were having a good time. </p><p> </p><p>She dropped her phone back onto the floor with an audible thunk and closed her eyes, focusing on the music. As the song ended, she idly wondered why Judy had thought of her when she heard it. It was a pretty song — like the ones Judy wrote. About love and starting over. </p><p>It wasn’t long before a knock at the door startled her out of her thoughts. Jen dragged herself upright and rubbed at her sore legs before unlocking the door. When Judy entered the room, she looked a little worse for wear and beyond unimpressed. </p><p>“I was so worried, Jen!” she chided, “I didn’t know where you went so I asked Ben and then he didn’t know either so I must’ve called you like a <em> million times </em> and —“</p><p>“Did you call my cell or did you call my landline back in Stockholm?” Jen cut her off, crossing her arms over her chest. </p><p>Judy stared at her for a moment before grimacing, “<em> Shit. </em>Still, you can’t just disappear in the middle of the night in a foreign country. Something could have happened to you.”</p><p>Jen sighed, “Seriously, Jude. I’m a big girl. You’re a little drunk, I’m tired, we’re both safe. Can we just drop it and call it a night?”</p><p>“It doesn’t matter if I’m drunk or not, okay? You’re not listening to me!”</p><p>Judy was angrier than Jen had ever seen her. She didn’t raise her voice or slam doors the way Jen did when she was angry, but there was a desperate quality to her voice. A frantic energy that felt worse than being yelled at — like Judy was imploding somehow.</p><p>She didn’t want to fight with Judy. Regardless of her intentions, she <em> was </em> in the wrong — not to mention she hadn’t even thought about <em> Judy’s </em> ability to find her way back to the hotel in an unfamiliar city. The thought made her nauseous.</p><p>Jen stepped back to sit on the edge of Judy’s bed and took a breath. “You’re right,” she replied softly, “I should have told you. I’m sorry.”</p><p>Judy sat down next to her, staring at her clasped hands, “It’s <em> okay </em>, Jen. It’s just a sore subject.”</p><p>Jen rubbed her thumb along Judy’s shoulder in what she hoped was a comforting gesture. Judy’s reaction clearly had deeper roots than Jen’s ill-advised French exit, but she didn’t know what she was meant to do in a situation like this. Didn’t know where she stood or what questions were appropriate to ask. She wasn’t used to comfort — she never quite learned how to accept it or provide it in a way that other people could feel. </p><p>So she settled on, “Is that something you wanna talk about?” and hoped for the best. Maybe the intent mattered. She hoped it mattered. </p><p>“It’s just,” she gestured vaguely, “I don’t know — ancient history at this point. <em> God </em>, I must sound like I’m totally nuts right now.”</p><p>“No,” Jen whispered, looping her arms around Judy’s shoulders and allowing her to fold into her side, “You don’t sound like you’re nuts, Judy. I understand.”</p><p>“Just tell me next time? Please?”</p><p>“Of course.” </p><p>In a weak attempt to lighten the mood, Jen continued, “How was your night, though? It seemed like you were really into that Steve guy.”</p><p>“Oh,” she chuckled lightly, “I dunno. He’s super talented. Everyone’s saying him and Ben are gonna end up in the final.”</p><p>“Russia could show up without a song and they’d still make the final.” </p><p>Judy brought a hand to Jen’s face, squeezing her cheeks playfully, “Don’t be mean.”</p><p>“Just stating the facts here.”</p><p>“At first it was just for the PR,” she explained, “I met him at that mixer and he was getting a <em> lot </em>of attention so I figured being celebrity-adjacent might work in our favour.”</p><p>“But…” Jen prompted. </p><p>“<em> But </em> , he’s actually kinda sweet? I mean, he’s got a face like a fucking renaissance statue and it’s, um… <em> been a while </em> for me.”</p><p>“Bet he’s got a big dick,” Jen remarked, grateful that Judy’s head was still pressed against her chest so she couldn’t see the way she’d cringed as the words left her mouth. </p><p>“<em> Jen!” </em> she giggled and Jen smiled at the sound. Although Judy had been vague about what had upset her, Jen felt pretty confident in her guess that it had something to do with her mother, and the more they had conversations like this, the more Jen felt like she was being dishonest by keeping so much of herself hidden. Like maybe if she told her the truth it would mean something to her — show her that she wasn’t alone, at least — but Jen wasn’t ready to do that. Not now and maybe not ever. </p><p>Talking about the past made it real and Jen wasn’t sure she could go back to those dark places and make it out intact. She wasn’t like Judy, who lived with her grief like an insolent roommate while Jen danced around it — a sinkhole in her back yard taunting her with its constant presence. As ridiculous as it sounded, Jen sometimes felt that if she ever started crying she might not be able to stop, like someone would find her fifty years from now still laying there with bloodshot eyes and a wet pillowcase, so she didn’t cry and she didn’t talk. It was easier when they were laughing like this. It was easier not to think about how much was left unsaid. </p><p>“Just sayin’,” Jen teased.</p><p>“God,” Judy groaned, “Tomorrow’s gonna suck. I hate wine hangovers.”</p><p>“Play stupid games, win stupid prizes. At least we don’t have to rehearse until noon.”</p><p>“You’re right,” she admitted begrudgingly before curling tighter into Jen’s side, “Um, this is gonna sound really stupid.”</p><p>“What’s up?”</p><p>Judy sighed, “I just feel really shaken up still and I was wondering if maybe I could sleep with you tonight? Only for tonight.”</p><p>“Uh,” Jen searched for an excuse, coming up short, “I guess so? As long as you don’t, like, flail around in your sleep or hog the duvet or something.”</p><p>“Nah,” she shook her head, “Once I’m out, I sleep like a rock. You won’t even notice me.”</p><p>She found the second part hard to believe, but she kept her thoughts to herself as Judy retreated to the bathroom to scrub off her makeup and change out of her dress.</p><p>Jen climbed into bed, pulling the duvet up to her neck and flipping onto her side. She wasn’t used to sharing her space like this, but it was preferable to the last time she’d ended up in close quarters with Judy. She wasn’t eager to spend another night on the floor of Judy’s apartment. There had been knots in her neck for days. </p><p>When she finally heard the bathroom light flick off and the door creak shut, she closed her eyes tightly and fisted her hands in the blankets as a preventative measure. It was fucking freezing in their hotel room thanks to an overachiever of an A/C unit and if Judy ripped the duvet off of her in her sleep she’d probably knock her out (a purely reflexive response). </p><p>The bed squeaked in protest as Judy crawled in and snuggled up opposite her and Jen felt herself begin to relax into the strangeness of it. The person-sized weight on the other side of the bed, the rustling of blankets as Judy situated herself, and the soft sounds of breathing, each of Judy’s shallow breaths chasing her own.</p><p>Judy had made good on her promise to stay out of Jen’s way for what she imagined was a solid fifteen minutes. Just as Jen was about to fall asleep, Judy shifted beside her, snuggling into her back and draping an arm around Jen’s shoulder.</p><p>“Uh, Jude?” she turned her head and found Judy fast asleep, tendrils of hair that had dislodged themselves from her ponytail obscuring her face, the telltale stain of red wine painting her parted lips, “Judy?”</p><p>Judy wasn’t kidding when she said she slept like a rock. Jen cautiously lifted the dead weight of an arm off of her hip, the action eliciting a stream of unintelligible mumbles from Judy before she nestled herself in closer, burying her face in Jen’s hair. <em> Oh, for fuck sake.  </em></p><p>With an exasperated huff, she closed her eyes. Judy’s open palm rested against her stomach, her fingers grazing Jen’s skin where her tank top had ridden up. Jen tended to run cold, but Judy was like a fucking furnace; warm and soft and, if she was being completely honest, strangely comforting. </p><p>She awoke the next morning to a surprisingly chipper Judy strolling through the door with a bag of take-out from the diner down the street under her arm.</p><p>“Oh!” she smiled, “You’re up.”</p><p>Jen rubbed the sleep from her eyes, “What time is it?”</p><p>“Half past ten. I didn’t want to wake you, but we’ve got a long day ahead of us so I’ve got,” she placed the bag down at the foot of Jen’s bed, “A spinach frittata for me and eggs benny for you. How did you sleep?”</p><p>Jen had slept better than she had in months, but admitting that felt weird for some reason — almost as weird as the fact that she’d somehow slept in so late. She often joked that her brain had a built-in alarm clock and, with her worst hangovers as infrequent exceptions, she’d be wide awake by six regardless of when she’d fallen asleep. </p><p>“Alright,” she replied casually, sitting up to grab her box from the bag, “How’s your hangover?”</p><p>She grinned, bouncing on her heels, “I think the universe is looking out for me today. I feel great.”</p><p>Jen took a bite of her breakfast and moaned, “<em> Ugh </em>, I fucking love you for this.”</p><p>“I love you too,” Judy smiled warmly before clearing her throat, “You’re welcome, I mean. I’m gonna miss these frittatas when we leave — mine are way better, obviously, but Keks is a close second.”</p><p>“I’ll be the judge of that.”</p><p>“Give me a few eggs and some fresh vegetables and I’ll blow your mind. It’s like the best sex of your life without the morning after awkwardness.”</p><p>Jen chuckled, “I can’t tell if that means you’ve been making really good frittatas or just having <em> really bad </em>sex.”</p><p>“Maybe a bit of both?” Judy offered with something between a smile and a grimace. Jen shook her head. </p><p>“You’re killin’ me, Jude.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tw for an attempted assault in this chapter (nothing happens, i promise)</p><p>beta credit where credit is due to bgaydocrimes for the first half and patsydecline for the second half! what a dream team.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>To call the Eurovision semi-finals a disaster would be a fucking understatement. They had immediately scurried off to a corner of the green room that was mercifully camera free and Jen leaned against the wall, resisting the urge to slide down it and bury her face in her hands like a movie protagonist who’d just found out her fucking child was dead or something. </p><p>“Oh God,” she breathed, her eyes still wide with shock, “Oh my fucking God. I cannot believe that just happened. That did <em> not </em>just fucking happen to me.”</p><p>“It’s okay! It’s all gonna be fine,” Judy placed a hand on her shoulder and Jen shrugged it off. </p><p>“My fucking tit fell out,” she hissed, “Nothing about this is okay.”</p><p>“I understand, Jen. It almost happened to me in Stockholm, remember?”</p><p>“But it <em> didn’t </em> happen, Judy. Almost is not the same fucking thing.” </p><p>“If it makes you feel any better, they’re very perky,” Judy reassured her, “You should be proud.”</p><p>Jen looked at Judy in disbelief, “Millions of people just saw my tits. Potentially <em> hundreds </em> of millions of people just saw my tits on live television because this costume,” she fiddled with the tie angrily, yanking the strings as tight as possible and double knotting them, “was designed for a fucking sedentary twelve year old boy. Suffice to say that their perkiness is <em> not </em> my main concern right now, Judy.”</p><p>“On the bright side, it’s only the semis,” she offered, “That’s gotta be like, less than a hundred million viewers.”</p><p>Jen closed her eyes and took a deep breath, “Not helping.”</p><p>“Oh, c’mon,” Judy smirked, “You’re the new Janet Jackson.”</p><p>“Seriously, Jude? Fuck you. How about you walk out there and take your top off and see how funny it is.”</p><p>“I <em> would </em> , <em> ” </em>she drawled, glancing over to the screen that was currently airing the rest of the evening’s performances, “but I couldn’t interrupt Croatia’s song. I hear they have a real shot at winning this year.”</p><p>Jen let out a huff and Judy grabbed her by the hand, tugging her away from the wall with a pout.</p><p>“Seriously though, let’s just grab a drink and sit down. I really wanna catch Moldova’s song.”</p><p>She followed Judy reluctantly, rolling her shoulders back and dodging the pitiful looks of everyone in the room. It was brutally awkward to face the competition after what had very publicly gone down, but they’d all seen Norway’s performance too (‘performance’ was a generous way to describe it) and Jen rationed she’d rather be known for her left tit than her inability to hold a note. </p><p>There had been a few awful performances already — a small comfort to someone who’d just experienced her worst fears come to fruition. The difference between this and Melfest was staggering. By the semi-finals at Melfest, all of their rivals were at the very least <em> good </em>, but here it seemed like several countries had just sent in the first band they could find and called it a day. It was part of the appeal of watching a show like this, Jen assumed. Like a car crash bathed in the glow of glitter and pyrotechnics, it was hard to look away. </p><p>Jen spotted a familiar duo from across the room, their tight metallic costumes catching the light of the flashing cameras like two man-shaped disco balls. She smiled politely and before she could protest, she was being ushered over to the drinks table by Ben, Steve zeroing in on Judy like a vulture in her absence. <em> Fuck that guy. </em></p><p>“You were great up there,” Ben enthused, “Nobody even noticed. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”</p><p>Jen gave him a terse look, taking a sip of her newly acquired champagne, “The fact that you’re bringing it up unprovoked leads me to believe that might not be entirely true.”</p><p>“Elephant in the room, I guess,” he clutched his glass to his chest with an apologetic smile. </p><p>“At least it was only one… elephant,” she quipped, accepting that she wouldn’t be able to get out of this one without a sense of humour. “Both might have been a scandal.”</p><p>Ben let out an uncomfortable laugh and Jen glanced over her shoulder. </p><p>Judy looked like she was in her own little world once again, giggling into her champagne with Steve’s arm around her shoulder. Jen’s jaw set in a tight line. Maybe she wasn’t entirely certain why the sight of Steve and Judy together caused bile to rise in her throat, but she was sure she could come up with more than a few reasons if she tried. </p><p>He had a <em> very </em>punchable face, for one. That was something. </p><p>“Have you heard Moldova’s song yet?” Ben asked. </p><p>“Nope. Judy’s super into it though, so let me guess — slow as fuck?”</p><p>Ben laughed and Jen side-eyed him.</p><p>“What? Am I wrong?”</p><p>“I mean, no,” he admitted. “But it <em> is </em> incredible. I’ve been told I’m an easy crier but <em> dang. </em>”</p><p>“Oh,” Jen quirked an eyebrow. “Slow <em> and </em>sad. Eurovision’s really churning out the hits this year.”</p><p>Ben shook his head, “You’re kind of awful.”</p><p>“That’s old news,” Jen crossed her arms over her chest and directed her attention to the screen. </p><p>She and Ben chatted idly through the next few songs and it wasn’t ideal; his presence <em> did </em>vaguely annoy her, but it helped a little bit. Helped her catch herself every time her thoughts drifted toward Judy and Steve. </p><p>The chit-chat died out when Moldova took the stage with a soulful little folk song in an F sharp major key. Jen didn’t mind it, honestly. The singer (Mary, maybe, Jen had forgotten moments after she’d met her) was one of the more talented members of their ragtag group and she <em> sang with heart </em>, as Jen’s first vocal coach would say. </p><p>“She wrote this about her mom,” Ben whispered, “She died two years ago.”</p><p>It hit like a blow to her stomach, sickening and sharp. She hadn’t been paying much attention to the lyrics, but now they were all she could hear. Ringing in her ears. Taunting her, somehow. She felt a wave of dread creep over her, torturously slow, and then the shift. Then the rush, the <em> falling </em>. Like being strapped to the front of a freight train at breakneck speed. </p><p>She tried to take a breath, but the air seemed to stick like dust on tape at the base of her throat. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t fucking breathe and the room looked wrong somehow; nightmarish and unfamiliar with feathered edges. She felt her hands begin to shake, then her legs, the tingling chill that had started as a pinprick in the centre of her chest spreading outward until it was everywhere at once. </p><p>Jen stood up abruptly, legs trembling traitorously under her weight, and escaped to the bathroom, falling back against the sinks the second the door slammed shut behind her. She gasped for air, clinging to the cool enamel with clammy hands to keep herself upright. She knew that she needed to breathe. Breathe <em> slowly </em> . It was what the shrink at the hospital had told her to do the night that her mom died. She’d thought that maybe <em> she </em> was dying too, because her body was numb, buzzing like anaesthesia, and she wasn’t sure she knew where she was anymore. Somewhere familiar but different; fuzzy, discoloured, and too bright. Yellow-white walls and hands that weren’t hers but should be.</p><p>She felt it now. Not her hands, not her body. She held them out in front of her, watching them shake violently. Alien hands. Not her novocaine body and humming skin. She curled one hand into a fist and banged it down hard on porcelain. There was a dull sting, she recognized, not <em> real </em> pain. Detached. Somebody else’s pain. Somebody else’s blood in the sink. Her own face in the mirror, maybe, but the angles were all wrong. <em> I’m going to die </em>, she thought, and it was the only clear thought in her mind. Dying in a bathroom with a rabbit-fast heart and a stranger’s blood on her knuckles. </p><p>She knew there was only one way to stop it when she felt like this. She remembered what the shrink had told her. <em> Breathe slowly </em>. </p><p>She closed her eyes and counted her breaths, rubbing her thumb against her palm. <em> My hands </em> , she thought, <em> my body </em>. Inhale, 2, 3, 4. Hold. Exhale. She repeated the process until she couldn’t hear her heart anymore and her hand started to burn. Real pain. </p><p>Jen didn’t hear the door open, only footsteps ringing out, heels on hard linoleum like gunshots.</p><p>Her eyes shot open and Judy was standing in front of her, terror etched into her delicate features. Jen couldn’t remember crying, but her cheeks were a different cold than the rest of her. Wet cold. The words sounded strange in her head. </p><p>“Jen,” she spoke quietly, as if she were afraid Jen would drop dead at a sudden noise. “What’s going on?”</p><p>“Get out of here right now,” she hissed, the concern in Judy’s eyes only adding insult to injury. </p><p>Judy just stared at her, stared at the blood dripping from her hand and the droplets at her feet. </p><p>“I’m not leaving you like this,” she replied, as if it were insane that Jen suggest she do such a thing. Maybe Jen <em> was </em>crazy, white knuckling the sink counter and the frayed ends of her composure, but it certainly wasn’t because she wanted to be alone in her humiliation. </p><p>Jen could feel herself slipping fully back to reality, but now there were fresh tears brimming in her eyes and she didn’t know how much longer she could hold them back. </p><p>“Get the fuck out, Judy!” she screamed, shocking herself with her own intensity. </p><p>Judy’s lower lip quivered, her eyes misting over, but she stayed firm, still as a statue. </p><p>“Are you fucking deaf? I said get <em> out!” </em> her voice cracked on the last word, tears spilling over, and then Judy’s arms were around her, catching her weight as Jen crumpled against her body and sobbed into her shoulder. The floodgates were open and everything Jen had fought to keep in was tearing its way out of her chest against her will. </p><p>“My mom’s dead,” Jen choked out, “And she was the only person who ever gave a shit about me. She was my <em>person</em>, you know? And now she’s gone and it’s been seven fucking years and I still need her and she’s not here.”</p><p>Judy ran her fingers through Jen’s hair and she tried to relax into the touch, tried to breathe. “I’m here, Jen,” she murmured into Jen’s neck and Jen was glad she didn’t say <em>I’m sorry</em>. She’d rather Judy be here than sorry. </p><p>“I just miss her,” Jen whispered and it might have been the scariest thing she’d ever done. Making it real. </p><p>Judy pulled back, wiping the tears from Jen’s cheeks with the back of her hand, “Can I be your person?” </p><p>Jen met her eyes and it was like seeing her for the first time, somehow. She looked at Jen with so much care, so much tenderness etched into the soft lines of her face it was hard to believe Judy was a real person standing in front of her and not some strange hallucination — tears wiped away by the gentle hands of a hologram girl. </p><p>Jen had screamed at her, pushed her away like everybody else, but Judy stayed. </p><p>She nodded, pulling Judy close again, breathing in the scent of hairspray and sandalwood that was so distinctly <em> Judy </em>. “Can I be yours?” Jen asked, her voice small and uncertain. She wasn’t good at this like Judy was. It seemed like affection was as natural as breathing to Judy, but for Jen it was stilted and mechanical. An awkward skill she’d have to learn by rote. </p><p>“Yeah,” Judy replied, and Jen could hear the smile in her voice. </p><p>Judy left for a stall to grab a wad of toilet paper and dampened it before bringing the cold tissue to Jen’s cut hand, holding it in place. Jen winced at the sting and a frown tugged at the corners of Judy’s lips. She repeated the process, this time cleaning up the mascara that had collected under Jen’s eyes. It occured to Jen that this was a complete role reversal of the first time she’d gone to Judy’s apartment. The time Jen had reluctantly taken care of Judy and Judy had almost kissed her. </p><p>“There you go,”  she tapped the tissue against Jen’s nose with a childlike smile, “Pretty.”</p><p>She watched as Judy turned on the sink Jen had been standing in front of, washing the blood down the drain. The word stuck in her head like an afterimage. <em> Pretty.  </em></p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>They made it through to the final because, yeah, a lot of the competition sucked pretty badly, actually. And if they scored a few pity points for Jen’s wardrobe malfunction, she wasn’t complaining. It felt surreal. </p><p>They were approached for an interview after the results were announced, their first real interview, and Jen was still a bit of a mess but she played it off as best she could. Maybe she was just a <em>really </em>emotional winner. She hid her right hand behind her back and Judy covered the cuts with her palm, careful not to brush too hard against her torn skin. </p><p>“Fans are seeing a lot of similarities between you two and last year’s contestants for Russia, Lena Katina and Julia Volkova of t.A.T.u,” the interviewer plodded on, smiling with too-white teeth. </p><p>Jen blanched, her breath hitching. “Oh Jesus,” she choked.</p><p>“Oh!” Judy exclaimed, “We love t.A.T.u! That’s such a wonderful compliment.”</p><p>“Of course,” Jen corrected herself, “Such big fans, but I definitely think Judy and I are very different in <em> many </em>, many ways.”</p><p>“Naturally,” he agreed, “Can you tell us about how you two met? Your on-stage chemistry is a real treat to watch and I think we’re all very intrigued to get some backstory there.”</p><p>Judy laughed, “It was a bit of an arranged marriage. I submitted a demo to Jen’s manager and she set us up for the national song selection in Sweden. I feel like fate had a hand in it though. I really am so incredibly grateful to be doing this with her.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Jen chuckled, breathy and a bit tense, “She’s my best friend. My <em> be-fri </em>.”</p><p>As they walked into the afterparty that night, Jen thought back to their interview and let out an exasperated huff, “Can you fucking <em> believe </em> that guy?”</p><p>“I still don’t know what you’re so angry about,” Judy protested, “Everything he said about us was like, super complementary.”</p><p>“He compared us to fucking t.A.T.u!” Jen gawked.</p><p>“Yeah, and t.A.T.u’s fucking <em> great </em>, Jen.”</p><p>Jen didn’t know how to properly convey why it had made her so uncomfortable, but she knew it wasn’t their music that had earned them the comment. Just as Lorna had said, it was the green room at Melfest that had thrust them unceremoniously into the public eye. </p><p>“I don’t know how much I have to dumb it down for you, Judes,” Jen lowered her voice to a hiss, “They pretended to be <em> lesbians </em>.”</p><p>Judy’s brows knit together, “Oh, I don’t think they were pretending. They’re Russian. It’s like, a super homophobic country.”</p><p>“For fuck sake, Judy,” she groaned, “Do you really not understand what’s going on here?” </p><p>Judy raised an eyebrow and Jen continued, “They think <em> we </em>,” she waved a finger between them, “Are banging. Or at least playing it up like we are. And to add insult to injury, you’re cheating on me with Steve Wood.”</p><p>“<em> Oh </em>,” Judy squeaked. </p><p>“<em> Yes </em> . Have you noticed that Lorna’s stopped harassing us? That’s not because Steve and Ben <em> made us famous </em>, it’s because we kissed at Melfest and now I’m assuming it’s all over the internet.”</p><p>“Is that, um, a problem? Because I’m,” she fiddled with the ring on her thumb, struggling to maintain eye contact, “<em> You know </em>. And you’re not?”</p><p>Jen’s expression softened and she grabbed Judy’s hand, “Oh my God, <em> no </em>, Jude.”</p><p>“It’s okay if it is,” she replied quickly, “I didn’t mean to make things weird.”</p><p>Judy looked so quietly sad in that moment and Jen was floored by her own tactlessness — absolutely fucking astounded that, in twenty-six years, she’d never learned when to shut the fuck up. </p><p>“I’m serious, okay?” she started, squeezing Judy’s hand, “And what you said about me? It’s not true. Not really, at least.”</p><p>It was something Jen had never said out loud and she wasn’t even sure she had the proper words to say it. She’d slept with men (too many men, some might argue) and slept with women, but she’d never actually <em> dated </em> a woman so it didn’t feel like a part of her she needed to put a label on. It was just a <em> thing </em>. A quirk or something. </p><p>It sounded ridiculous when she really thought about it. Jen liked going down on women sometimes — she was quirky like that. <em> God </em>. </p><p>“Wait, what the fuck, Jen?” Judy sputtered. </p><p>“What?” Jen gave her a look, “Is it really <em> that </em> hard to believe?”</p><p>“You told me your friend offered you a ticket to Lilith Fair in ‘99 and you just… didn’t go.”</p><p>“I told you, I had to work in the morning.”</p><p>Judy narrowed her eyes, “You thought 32 Flavors was a fucking <em> Flavor Flav </em>song, Jen.”</p><p>Jen smirked, “Wouldn’t it be awful if it was?”</p><p>“I really don’t understand you,” Judy muttered, but she was smiling so Jen just squeezed her hand and walked ahead to the bar, leading the way through the crowd. </p><p>As was becoming routine, it wasn’t long after they’d ordered their drinks (Judy had ordered a water, promising to take it easy this time) that Steve made his grand entrance. Jen stuck around at first, feigning ignorance every time Steve made a subtle attempt at getting her to leave them alone, but after a while it grew tiring. Really, Jen was exhausted. Their performance and its aftermath in the bathroom had sucked the life out of her. </p><p>She wandered around until she found the exit to the smoking pit, dusting off a chair before sitting down and lighting a cigarette. She didn’t quite consider herself a social smoker, more like an <em> anti </em>social smoker. Slipping out for a cigarette was as good an excuse as any when she wanted a moment to herself. </p><p>Much to her chagrin, her alone time was quickly interrupted by a tall brunette in a silver cocktail dress cursing under her breath as she tried to light a cigarette with a dead Zippo. Jen recognized her instantly. Moldova. </p><p>Jen held up her pink gas station lighter and the woman breathed a sigh of relief, taking it from her hand and lighting the cigarette. </p><p>“Thanks,” she smiled, exhaling a cloud of smoke, “Are you hiding too?”</p><p>“Excuse me?”</p><p>“Sorry,” she chuckled, “I’m Maria. You’re Jen, right? We’ve met briefly.”</p><p>Jen took a drag of her cigarette and leaned back in her chair. “I think we have. And I’m not hiding, I just needed some air.”</p><p>There was something about sitting outside with a stranger, the muffled beat of club hits through the wall as white noise, that took some of Jen’s edge off. Talking to a woman she’d likely never see again was probably a healthier alternative to sitting by herself and ruminating, at least. </p><p>“Who are you hiding from?” Jen asked, flicking ash into the tray next to her. </p><p>“Steve Wood,” Maria groaned, bringing two fingers to her temple like a gun, “Put me out of my misery, <em> please </em>.”</p><p>“Fuck that guy,” Jen replied. It was nice to finally voice that thought. “You’re probably in the clear, though. Last I checked, he was making out with my friend.”</p><p>“Judy Hale?”</p><p>Jen nodded and Maria rolled her eyes, “What a dirtbag. She’s too good for him. <em> God </em>, she’s such a sweetheart.”</p><p>Jen hummed in agreement, “She sees the good in people. Even when it’s not there.”</p><p>Maria gave Jen a curious look, lips curling up around her cigarette filter, “No offence, but I kind of thought you two were an item.”</p><p>“You’re not the only one,” Jen sighed, “The whole thing was totally blown out of proportion but whatever, I guess. It’s out of my hands now.”</p><p>“You make a very cute fake couple,” Maria smiled teasingly, “Too bad she’s cheating on you.”</p><p>Jen wasn’t sure why the joke stung so much. The longer things went on, the more she was starting to feel like Judy <em> was </em>cheating on her with Steve. What the fuck was up with that?</p><p>She pushed the feeling down and finished her cigarette, lighting another and falling into a comfortable conversation with Maria. She was the most normal of the people Jen had met here so far. A little bit provocative, but <em> normal </em> at least. </p><p>After three more cigarettes (thank God they didn’t have to rehearse in the morning, because Jen’s throat was going to hate her for this), Maria’s expression turned solemn.</p><p>“Look, you didn’t hear this from me, but keep an eye on Judy around Steve.”</p><p>“What do you mean?” Jen prodded.</p><p>“I mean he’s used to getting what he wants,” she grimaced, “People talk, you know. He’s not a good guy.”</p><p>Jen felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Something about all of this wasn’t sitting right with her. </p><p>“I’m gonna go check on her,” she announced, snuffing out her cigarette, “I’ll see you at the final, right?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Maria tilted her head back, blowing a cloud of smoke into the sky, “I’ll be there.”</p><p>Jen paused at the door, calling back, “Your song. It was beautiful, by the way.”</p><p>Maria smirked, “So are you.”</p><p>Jen raised an eyebrow and Maria laughed, “Oh, I forgot. You’re fake taken. Let me know how that works out, yeah?”</p><p>“Will do,” Jen shot back before heading back into the club. </p><p>It was strange to Jen, how little of an effect Maria’s flirting had on her. She was absolutely gorgeous; ice blue eyes and pouty lips, and <em> fuck </em> , could she ever sing, but Jen couldn’t find it in herself to care. All she cared about was <em> Judy </em>. Making sure she was alright. </p><p>She scanned the perimeter of the club, elbowing her way through the crowd, and the longer she looked, the more anxious she got. Judy wasn’t here. </p><p>Finally, her eyes landed on a familiar shock of brown hair. It was either Ben or Steve, but she had no fucking clue either way. <em> Semi-identical, my ass.  </em></p><p>“Steve?” she grabbed him by the shoulder, spinning him around. </p><p>“Sorry to disappoint,” he replied. <em> Fucking Ben.  </em></p><p>“Where’s Judy?”</p><p>Ben frowned, “I’m not sure? Steve just left, I’m sure you can catch up with him if you head outside. He might know.”</p><p>Jen speed-walked for the door, regretting her choice of footwear. The cold night air hit her skin and she crossed her arms over her chest. </p><p>“Judy!” she yelled, trying to make out faces in the line of people waiting for cabs under the dim street lights. </p><p>“She’s over here!” a woman’s voice yelled back. Maria. <em> Thank fuck.  </em></p><p>Jen crossed the street, shivering in the cold, and found Judy slumped against Maria, Steve standing next to them. </p><p>“I was making sure she got home safe,” Steve explained, “Maybe if Jen hadn’t just left her at the bar, she wouldn’t have gotten so drunk.”</p><p>She considered tearing a strip off of him for insinuating that this was somehow <em> her </em>fault, but a late night brawl in the streets of Kyiv wasn’t the ending she’d planned for her already shitty day. </p><p>“Just figured I’d help you look,” Maria chimed in, ignoring Steve entirely, “She’s a mess.”</p><p>“I owe you for this, Maria. Seriously. I’ll take it from here.”</p><p>Jen looped her arm under Judy’s shoulders, grimacing when she realized Judy was pretty much a dead weight at that point. </p><p>A cab pulled up to the curb and Jen loaded Judy into the back and climbed in beside her, shoving her middle finger out the window when Steve protested. She’d steal his cab all she wanted, thank you very much.</p><p>Judy’s eyes were closed and her body was pressed up against Jen’s side, her mumbling the only indication that she was conscious at all.</p><p>“Judy?” Jen spoke softly, “Can you hear me?”</p><p>Judy’s eyes fluttered open, but she wasn’t looking at Jen. She looked <em> through </em> her. Jen had never seen Judy this fucked up — had probably never seen anybody this fucked up. It was concerning, to say the least. </p><p>When they arrived at the hotel, Jen paid the driver and held Judy up while she staggered into the elevator, down the hallway, and through the door to their room. </p><p>Removing Judy’s shoes was a painstaking ordeal. It was becoming abundantly clear that Judy couldn’t support her own weight <em> at all </em>, so after a few minutes of fumbling, Jen gave up and sat her down on the floor. One look at Judy’s skin-tight dress told Jen that helping her change out of it would be a futile battle. She hoped it was more comfortable than it looked. </p><p>With Judy safely in bed, Jen changed into her pyjamas and washed her face. Something about what had happened back at the club didn’t make sense to her. Judy <em> did </em>tend to overdo it, but she’d been drinking water when Jen had left. How drunk could she have possibly gotten in an hour without ending up in the bathroom vomiting half of it back up? She’d seen first-hand that Judy couldn’t handle her liquor. </p><p>She returned to the bedroom and sat on the edge of Judy’s bed. “Hey, Jude,” she squeezed her shoulder to get her attention, “How much did you drink back there?”</p><p>Judy groaned, her head falling to the side. “Water,” she mumbled. <em> Water? </em></p><p>Jen grabbed Judy’s purse off of the nightstand and flipped through the receipts in her wallet until she found the one from the club. Two soda waters. She felt the colour drain from her face. </p><p>
  <em> That fucking bastard.  </em>
</p><p>“Okay, honey,” Jen tried her best to keep her composure for Judy’s sake, “Did you leave your drink with Steve?”</p><p>“Steve?” Judy pouted, “I don’t like Steve.”</p><p>“Well, I don’t fucking like Steve either.” Jen couldn’t resist the remark. <em> He’s fucking dead the next time I see him </em>, she thought but she kept that to herself. </p><p>“I’m in love with <em> Jen </em>,” Judy whined, her words slurring together and Jen’s eyes widened. </p><p>“I’m sorry, what?” Jen yelped, “You’re in <em> what </em>with Jen?”</p><p>“Where’s Jen?”</p><p>Jen was reeling, trying to piece together her thoughts and coming up short. </p><p>“<em> I’m </em> Jen,” she sputtered, “Judy, I’ve been with you for the past forty-five minutes <em> . </em>”</p><p>Judy raised a hand and swatted weakly at Jen’s face, “Go get Jen.” <em> Oh, for the love of God.  </em></p><p>Jen climbed into bed next to her and sat up against the headboard, letting her babble on, only pretending to listen. She wasn’t going to sleep and leave her alone in the state that she was in, but it was hard to follow Judy’s meandering half-thoughts and circular stories. </p><p>She didn’t know what the fuck she was going to do about Steve, but she’d damn well be dealing with it. Even the thought of his smug fucking face flooded her with white hot rage, so she focused on Judy’s voice. </p><p>Slurred, but still Judy. </p><p>Still Judy, telling Jen she was in love with her. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>sorry for the wait! as always, thanks for reading my stupid eurovision au. your fav swedish pop stars say thank you too. the next chapter is longer, i promise. comments always appreciated!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jen didn’t sleep that night. Judy drifted off some time between three and four, forgoing her pillow to lay her head in Jen’s lap while Jen sat up with her back against the headboard, trying desperately to steady herself. Jen had her fair share of faults, she wouldn’t argue that, but she wasn’t an idiot and the mental gymnastics she was engaging in to rationalize the way she felt about Judy were frankly fucking pathetic. </p><p>She was a grown fucking woman. She didn’t melt over girls in bathrooms calling her <em> pretty </em>and she certainly didn’t stare at hotel walls for hours questioning her sanity over slurred, incoherent confessions of love. So maybe what she felt for Judy wasn’t just this deep well of platonic affection and good old fashioned fuck the patriarchy female empowerment or whatever she’d deluded herself into thinking it was. </p><p>She remembered the time Judy had undressed in front of her and how she’d chalked her over-the-top discomfort up to jealousy. If it were anybody else, Jen would have recognized the feeling as attraction, but with Judy she’d fully fucking <em> gaslit </em>herself into believing otherwise. Why was Judy so different? Acknowledging it didn’t mean she had to act on it. It wasn’t like she threw herself at everyone with a nice body. </p><p>She wasn’t sure when it happened; when this thing with Judy felt less like friendship and more like resisting the urge to give in. As if it were inevitable, somehow, that she’d end up in Judy’s arms if she stopped fighting it. It <em> wasn’t</em>, she reminded herself. There were so many reasons that she and Judy would never cross that line, but every time she looked down to see Judy sleeping peacefully in her lap she was reminded of how much she wished she could keep her like this. <em> Close</em>. Jen never wanted that so desperately before. </p><p>Judy stirred, her forehead creasing. “Fuck,” she mumbled, her voice hoarse and thick with sleep, “What happened last night?”</p><p>Jen adjusted her posture, suddenly acutely aware of the fact that Judy was laying in her lap. </p><p>“No idea. I think Steve fucking… roofied you or whatever.”</p><p>It wasn’t the most delicate way to put it, but Jen was exhausted, barely able to keep herself from drifting off. </p><p>Judy’s eyes shot open. </p><p>“Steve wouldn’t.”</p><p>“Steve did, <em> Judy</em>,” Jen snapped, “You were like, fucking <em> incoherent </em> and I’ve been up all night trying to decide whether or not I needed to take you to a fucking hospital. Do they even have ambulances here?”</p><p>Judy pulled away, sitting up and wincing in the process, “I’m sure they do, but —“</p><p>“Judy!”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Judy sighed, her eyes downcast, “I don’t know what to say. Are you alright?”</p><p>“Why are you asking if <em> I’m </em> alright?” Jen balked before sucking in a laboured breath and trying to soften her tone, “It’s not your fault, alright? He’s a piece of shit.”</p><p>“It’s not that, I just,” she swallowed, looking away, “It feels like you keep having to look after me. I mean, ever since we met I’ve just been this massive inconvenience for you.”</p><p>Jen reached out to place a hand on Judy’s shoulder, “Oh, come on, Judes. <em> No.</em> I’m so glad you’re here.”</p><p>Judy looked at her with trepidation, “Really?”</p><p>Jen forced a smile, “Yeah. Let’s get breakfast delivered. That spinach quiche shit you love.”</p><p>“It’s a frittata,” Judy replied weakly, “There’s no crust.”</p><p>Jen placed the order — not a quiche, a <em> frittata </em> — and the two of them ate in silence. She’d called Chris to cancel their rehearsal, citing a personal crisis and rolling her eyes when he just chuckled and teased, “Trouble in paradise?”</p><p>When the call dropped, she finally closed her eyes. It felt less like falling asleep and more like being forcibly slammed into unconsciousness by the week’s events. By life, her unrelenting opponent — always taking more than it gave back, always leaving her reeling, holding her head and searching desperately for a flat plane to find her footing. It was a theatrical view to hold, but the constant confusion and turmoil were getting exhausting. She’d always felt that she was supposed to have it all figured out by now. As if one day she’d fall asleep herself and wake up well-rested with a mortgage, a white picket fence, and a family. She didn’t want to be angry, but it was better than the alternative. It was easier than admitting she was scared.</p><p>She dreamt of Judy; Judy’s lips on her neck, the ghost of her touch on Jen’s skin pulsing and hot. The cold metal of the stacked silver rings that decorated Judy’s slender fingers branding her hips as she pushed her down and pulled her closer. In the dream, Judy laughed, sweet and melodic, and Jen jolted awake with a lump in her throat.</p><p>She sat up quickly, catching her breath and willing her tired eyes to bring the room back into focus. Judy was still sitting on the edge of the bed, her takeaway container discarded beside her.</p><p>“Jude?” Jen mumbled, “How long was I out? I forgot to set an alarm.”</p><p>Judy didn’t turn, only sniffled and brought her hands to her face, frantically wiping at her cheeks. Jen crawled forward, placing a hand on her shoulder and gently turning her around, taking in her reddened eyes and the tear tracks below them. She felt something inside of her tense, a tangible tightness in her chest; restrictive and suffocating. </p><p>“Hey,” she comforted her, wrapping her arms around Judy and letting her head fall against her shoulder, “It’s okay.”</p><p>“It’s not okay,” Judy choked out, her voice pitched high.</p><p>Jen pulled back, “No. It’s not okay.”</p><p>“It’s not okay,” Judy repeated, a little firmer this time, and Jen found herself wanting to hear Judy say it again. Wanting her to scream it from the rooftops until she really believed that she deserved better than men like Steve, or even women like Jen if Jen was being completely honest with herself.</p><p>“Don’t let anybody make you feel small, Judy,” Jen spoke seriously, still unsure where any of this was coming from, “You deserve somebody who makes you feel like your fucking <em> chakras are aligned </em> or like, your venus isn’t in gatorade or —“</p><p>Judy turned quickly, pulling Jen into a bruising hug and Jen sucked in a sharp breath, filling her nose with the scent of Judy’s perfume. </p><p>“No matter what happens tomorrow, you should know that I would do it all over again just to have met you,” Judy breathed, squeezing tighter.</p><p>“Jesus, that’s um,” Jen chuckled awkwardly, “Really sentimental. You know this isn’t goodbye yet, right?”</p><p>The <em> yet </em> lingered in her mind after the words had left her mouth. The idea of a goodbye with Judy looming on the horizon felt like a loss, a real one, like something big Jen would have to mourn. She felt different now than she had the day she’d met Judy and she wondered if she’d still be the same without her; if she’d really changed or if Judy’s presence was just the splint holding all of her fractures together. There was no way of knowing, really. All Jen knew with certainty was that tomorrow they’d compete together for the last time.</p><p>Abruptly, Jen clamoured out of bed and yanked a dress down from its hanger in her closet, “I know you brought pot. Where is it?”</p><p>Judy looked at her in disbelief, “I thought you weren’t a <em> drugs person</em>.”</p><p>Jen tugged her pyjama shirt over her head and quickly shimmied into the dress, rolling her eyes at Judy before making her way over to Judy’s bedside table and producing her floral Zippo and an expertly rolled joint. </p><p>“Do you trust me?” she asked, placing the joint between her lips and sparking it up. </p><p>“Jen!” Judy protested, “This is a non-smoking room.”</p><p>“Oh, don’t be a cop, Judy,” Jen teased, “Do you trust me?”</p><p>“Policing is an institutionally corrupt profession, I would never —“ Jen shot Judy a look and she sighed in resignation, “Yes, I trust you.”</p><p>Jen took a puff off of the joint and handed it to Judy, “Good. Then get dressed.”</p><p>The streets of Kyiv were dark by the time they made it out of their room, the weed and the glow of fluorescent street lights on Judy’s skin making her look almost spectral; otherworldly and out of place at Jen’s side.</p><p>“Jen?” Judy asked, jolting her out of her temporary daze, “Seriously. Where are we going? You’re asking for a very <em> Death Cab for Cutie </em>level of trust here.”</p><p>“Excuse me?”</p><p>Judy smiled weakly, “Y’know, I’m following you into the dark.”</p><p>Jen snorted, shaking her head and increased her strides, leaving Judy to speed walk after her as she made her way through quiet back roads into the bustling city. After a few more blocks, she stopped, gesturing toward the tacky neon sign that decorated a grungy-looking brick building with a self-satisfied smirk. At Judy’s lack of recognition, she marched forward, grabbing her by the hand and dragging her through the threshold of the karaoke bar.</p><p>“What’s your favourite song? Just tell me and we’ll get up there and fucking… I don’t know.”</p><p>“Are you actually offering to do karaoke with me right now?” Judy’s eyes lit up, “<em>Duran Duran </em> karaoke?”</p><p>Jen scrunched up her nose, crossing her arms over her chest, “I was <em> really </em> hoping you weren’t going to say Duran Duran.”</p><p>Judy grinned mischievously, leaving Jen for the bar and returning with two pints of beer. “They didn’t have wine,” she pouted.</p><p>“Pretty sure this isn’t the kind of place people go to for a glass of wine,” Jen replied, accepting a glass and taking a sip. It was way too hoppy for her tastes, but Judy seemed to be in better spirits and that was all that mattered. Even if it meant she’d have to drink gross beer and sing Duran Duran.</p><p>“So…” Jen drawled, “What brand of torture do you have in store for me tonight? Rio?”</p><p>Judy chuckled, “I’m not going to make you sing Duran Duran.”</p><p>Jen gulped down as much of her beer as she could before Judy led her to the stage and whispered something to the DJ. Before she could protest, the muffled notes of a familiar guitar intro began to fill the room and Jen blanched.</p><p>“Judy,” she hissed, holding her microphone tight to her chest, “Are you fucking insane?”</p><p>Judy only stuck out her tongue and took a sip of her beer before setting it down on the floor and backing up, licking her lips.</p><p>
  <em> Another head hangs lowly, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Time is slowly taken, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And the violence caused such silence, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Who are we mistaken? </em>
</p><p>When Judy turned to her expectantly, Jen steeled herself, “But you see, it’s not me, it’s not my family, in your head, in your head they are f… dying?”</p><p>Judy gave her an apprehensive look and Jen fought the urge to laugh, coming back in on the chorus, both of their voices cracking in a way that was painful even to her own ears. When the second verse rolled around, Jen was beyond the point of being concerned that they were absolutely butchering The Cranberries in front of a packed bar.</p><p>“Another mother’s breaking heart is... something something,” she sang with conviction, causing Judy to burst into laughter.</p><p>“She doesn’t know the lyrics,” Judy sang to the tune, “She is so <em> mistaken</em>.”</p><p>As the crowd erupted in jeers and shouts of, “Get off the fucking stage,” she and Judy only laughed louder, sputtering through the next few lines before Jen decided to take it a step further, ad libbing the rest of the song and grabbing Judy to pull her off of the stage as they doubled over in fits of giggles.</p><p>“Oh my God, Jen,” Judy cackled, “That was fucking amazing.”</p><p>“That was mortifying,” Jen choked out, wiping tears from her cheeks.</p><p>“Dolores O’Riordan would be so proud,” she wheezed, “<em>It’s the same old routine since I was sixteen? </em> That was kind of close, at least.”</p><p>Jen was about to fire back that Judy had totally set her up (she’d made it abundantly clear that she was <em> not </em> a Cranberries fan — folk rock had never been her thing) when she noticed Judy’s wide, earnest grin and the dimples punctuating both rosy cheeks. <em> Well shit</em>, she thought, <em> I guess that wasn’t a total bust.  </em></p><p>She watched as Judy finished her beer and placed the empty glass on the bar, “Where are we going next?” </p><p>There was a silent dare in Judy’s eyes as she stood there eagerly awaiting whatever it was that Jen had in store for their night. Jen was never one to back down from a challenge, so she chugged the rest of her drink and set it down next to Judy’s. </p><p>“Still trust me?”</p><p>“Always,” Judy replied and there was a weight to the word that frightened Jen. Always, somehow the antithesis of goodbye; two duelling absolutes looping around in her mind indefinitely in some muddled dialectic. It was the weed still clouding her thoughts, she rationed, but as they left the bar, Jen found herself wondering how always and goodbye could coexist; if one had to cancel the other out by proxy or if she’d remember this night and feel the same way she did now. </p><p>Like she was home. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Judy laid across the table, propping her head up on her hands to shoot Jen a serious look, “So if I do it, you’ll do it too?”</p><p>“I already told you I would.”</p><p>“But you promise?” Judy pressed, “Swear to God?”</p><p>“God’s not real,” Jen shot back, cringing when the tattoo artist gave her a dirty look, “But yes. I swear to Beyoncé.”</p><p>Judy was silent for a moment before narrowing her eyes, “Swear to Michelle and Kelly too.”</p><p>Jen let out a huff, “I swear to all of Destiny’s Child and Destiny herself that if you get this stupid tattoo on your ass, so will I.”</p><p>“Fine,” Judy smiled, satisfied with her response, and turned to the artist, “Do it.”</p><p>Forty-five minutes later, they left the shop with matching black Eurovision hearts and Jen knew she’d be ashamed of it eventually, but for now it was hilarious. For now, she knew that somebody would see Judy’s tattoo someday and Judy would have to tell them about Jen. About shithole apartments in Stockholm, too much AquaNet, and the ridiculous path they’d taken to get here; a place that was objectively meaningless but at the same time meant everything.</p><p>She felt the equilibrium shift from products to reactants, a delicate balance tilting imperceptibly to favour <em> always</em>, and it was worth a tramp stamp to know that there was evidence of their year together that couldn’t be erased.</p><p>It wasn’t until Judy was sitting next to her in the sand of the Dnieper, trembling with laughter as she tried in vain to light another joint, that Jen understood what it meant to want physical proof. </p><p>“It’s not even a tramp stamp, Jen,” Judy giggled, “It’s like, the novelty shot glass of tattoos.”</p><p>Jen pulled a cigarette from her purse, lighting it and taking a puff. “I think they’re sexy,” she exhaled, watching the smoke float above her head in whisps and tendrils, “Just own it.”</p><p>“You’re better at that than I am. Not caring what people think, I mean.”</p><p>“It depends on the person,” she replied, battling with the impulse to throw her guard back up, “Occasionally I give a shit.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Judy conceded, “But you don’t <em> need </em> people the way I do. I wish I was more like you — honestly, I do.”</p><p>“You don’t want to be like me, Judy,” Jen sighed, leaning back on her elbows and sinking into the sand. </p><p>Judy passed her the joint and she took it in her free hand, sucking in thick smoke and letting it calm her nerves. </p><p>“You were unhappy for a long time,” Judy remarked as casually and assuredly as she’d tell somebody that it was raining or there was a road closure ahead. Clipped recognition of an incontestable fact.</p><p>“Judy,” Jen warned. </p><p>“What? I thought we were being honest with eachother now.”</p><p>Jen took a deep breath and closed her hand into a fist, letting the sand slip through her fingers, “I’m not like, a robot or some shit, okay?”</p><p>“Are you happy now?” Judy asked, sliding her fingers along Jen’s in the sand. </p><p>“Yeah, I think so,” she replied honestly. Jen <em> was </em>happy; happier than she’d been in over a decade and that was what scared her the most. </p><p>“What are your plans after this?”</p><p>Jen hummed, tilting her head back to look at the clear sky, “Greece, maybe? I hear Santorini is beautiful in the summer. Yours?”</p><p>“Heading home, I guess,” Judy let out a trapped sigh, “My boss said I could stay in one of the vacant rooms when I get back, but a twenty-two year old living in an assisted living facility is just… really sad. I need to find a new apartment.”</p><p>“I’d offer you my old apartment, but somehow I think it’s sadder.”</p><p>Judy grimaced, “Let’s win tomorrow, alright? No more shitty apartments.”</p><p>“Deal,” Jen smiled and in that moment there was no other option. If this was the end for them, they’d go out with a bang. Maybe endings weren’t synonymous with diminution, maybe it was enough for Jen to have experienced what she had, but this felt different.</p><p>Judy pulled hard on her joint and held the smoke in her lungs before letting it out slowly and inhaling it through her nose with a boastful grin, “Did you see that? French inhale.”</p><p>Jen let out a breathless laugh, “You’re an idiot.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>the last chapter is finally here! to everyone who’s kept up with this weird little au over the past few months, thank you so much for coming along for the ride. jen and judy’s song is all about us by tATu because fuck actually writing a song for them (i’m lazy) so listen as you read for the immaculate 2005 eurovision grand final vibes. thank you hayley and gary the cat for your brilliant beta work and for peer-pressuring me to post this.</p><p>also, yes there’s sex.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Girls?” Lorna called out, bursting into the room in a tailored skirt suit that looked like it had been stolen off of the set of Ally McBeal, “How are my two favourite international sensations?”</p><p>“Great, Lorna!” Judy replied, cutting off Jen’s shout of, “Did someone die?”</p><p>Seeing Lorna in such high spirits was jarring, to say the least. </p><p>“Nobody died,” Lorna smiled tightly, “You two are the first of my girls to make it to the grand final. Do you know how long I’ve been working for this?”</p><p>Lorna looked at her expectantly and Judy gave her a nudge in the side, prompting her to answer the question. </p><p>“Oh, sorry,” she chuckled awkwardly, “I thought you were gonna…”</p><p>“Thirty-six years, Jennifer. I’m not sure how either of you pulled this off; Lord knows you’re two of the most unlikely candidates for the job. I would go as far as to say that not a single citizen of our great nation thought you would make it through the Melfest finals, but —“</p><p>“Oh, for the love of God,” Jen sighed, bringing her fingers to her temples, “Doesn’t it get tiring? Spending all this time reminding me that I don’t deserve to be here?”</p><p>“Let me finish. I’m pleased with you, Jennifer,” she pulled a thick stack of envelopes bound by an elastic band out of her purse and handed it to Jen, “Both of you. And you should be proud of yourselves.”</p><p>That afternoon, as Judy showered in their shared bathroom, Jen tore open one of the envelopes, pulling out a sheet of folded notebook paper. </p><p>
  <em> Jen and Judy, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Thank you for showing the world that people like us can be anything we want to be. That our love is beautiful and it matters. I’m still in school right now, but when I’m older I hope I’ll be able to be brave like you.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I can’t wait to watch you win, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Allie </em>
</p><p>
  <em> ps. You’re both super hot. Next time you’re in Borlänge, please marry me (both of you). </em>
</p><p>She reread the postscript, laughing out loud in disbelief before the rest of the letter began to sink in. It had never registered to Jen before that this tiny, irrelevant part of her that she’d ignored for so long could actually mean something. Could mean that she belonged to some weird little family of strangers, <em> people like us</em>, who felt the things she felt. The things she’d spent her life believing she wasn’t capable of feeling. </p><p>But some kid in Borlänge had watched her and Judy on TV and seen herself in them and Jen knew that she’d reached her tipping point; it was harder now to deny the truth than it was to accept it. Jen <em> was </em>like the girl from the letter, like Judy, and it was true that what she felt for Judy mattered. It was as involuntary as her own heartbeat; a mosaic of striate tissue steadily thrumming Judy’s name into her bloodstream when all she’d asked for was the necessary oxygen. </p><p>“I’m gay,” she whispered, tasting the word on her tongue, trying it on for size. She closed her eyes and pressed on, her voice so quiet she could barely hear it herself, “And I like Judy.”</p><p>The last part felt inadequate, like calling a thunderstorm a light drizzle, so Jen took a deep breath, exhaling, “I love her,” like smoke and before she had time to process the gravity of it, the bathroom door was flung open and Judy stepped out. </p><p>Judy’s eyes landed on the sheet of paper in her hand, her face lighting up, “Ooh. What’s that?”</p><p>She ran over to Jen, stumbling over the long hem of her bathrobe, and grabbed it out of Jen’s hand. Her expression was unreadable until she placed the letter down next to her on Jen’s bed. </p><p>“Well shit, Jen,” she smirked, “Looks like we’ve still got it. A marriage proposal from a teenager.”</p><p>“Oh, shut up. You were a teenager like three years ago.”</p><p>She raised her hands in surrender, “And nobody wanted to marry me back then.”</p><p>“Better get used to it. You’re the most eligible bachelorette in Europe now.”</p><p>Judy gave her a curious look, “Because…”</p><p>“You’re a celebrity,” Jen replied as if it were obvious and for a moment she could have sworn she saw a flicker of disappointment in Judy’s eyes, gone as quickly as it had appeared. </p><p>“You know none of that means anything, Jen.”</p><p>Summoning whatever bravery she had in store, Jen forced herself to smile through the tidal wave of emotions threatening to overtake her, “Yeah, but <em> you </em> do. Never change, okay? Even when I’m not around to keep you from going all lifestyles of the rich and famous.”</p><p>“I won’t if you don’t,” Judy replied, a challenge in her tone. </p><p>“Yeah? And who are we swearing on this time? The Spice Girls?”</p><p>Judy held out her pinkie and Jen took it with her own, linking them together. </p><p>“Broke bitches forever,” Judy spoke in mock austerity. </p><p>Jen barked out a laugh and Judy narrowed her eyes.</p><p>“Fine,” Jen acquiesced, “Broke bitches forever.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Ten minutes before they were scheduled to go on stage, Jen saw a familiar face out of the corner of her eye and felt her body tense with fury. </p><p>“Oh, <em> fuck </em>no,” she hissed and Judy turned to her, her face a mask of shock and concern. </p><p>“What’s going on?” Judy asked before following Jen’s eyeline to see Steve standing in the corner. </p><p>She’d stupidly assumed that Steve and Ben would have gone straight to the green room after their performance, but there he was chatting up a storm with a stagehand who couldn’t be older than nineteen. </p><p>Judy seemed to shrink in front of her, her shoulders falling forward, arms crossing in front of her. </p><p>“It’s fine, Jen,” she insisted weakly. </p><p>Jen placed a hand on her shoulder, “Could you go check us in backstage? I just have to talk to Maria for a second.”</p><p>Judy gave her an apprehensive look, “I guess? But seriously, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”</p><p>When Judy was safely backstage, Jen marched over to Steve, her heels pounding violently on the linoleum floor. She grabbed him roughly by the arm and yanked him back to face her. </p><p>“Hey, fuckface,” she crossed her arms over her chest, “Wanna tell me what the fuck happened at that party?”</p><p>Steve scoffed, pulling his arm away and straightening out his sleeve, “You stole my fucking cab is what happened. And this jacket cost more than six months of whatever you pay for rent in the projects, so be careful where you’re putting your hands.”</p><p>“Excuse me?” she turned to the girl at Steve’s side, “Listen, honey. This guy’s a piece of shit. Trust me, you can find like, ten dudes who look like him working retail at Abercrombie.”</p><p>The girl pressed two fingers to her ear, pretending to be engrossed in whatever was going on in her earpiece and scurried off, clearly not interested in getting involved in what was about to transpire. </p><p>“Judy’s been trying to fuck me since the day we met,” he jabbed, that arrogant smirk still plastered on his face, “And this pathetic little white knight routine isn’t going to get her to give up dick for you.”</p><p>Jen felt something inside her snap. It was the type of thing you saw in movies; Bruce Banner suddenly thirty feet tall and radioactive green. Jen was the action hero seeing red except the only thing in her field of vision was Steve’s stupid fucking face.</p><p>Steve looked at her quizzically, sensing the change, and Jen smiled. </p><p>“Just so you know, <em> asshole, </em>if you tell anybody about this, I’ll go to the press and tell them exactly what you did.”</p><p>“What the fuck are you talking about, you crazy bitch?”</p><p>Jen drew back her fist and threw it forward into Steve’s face with as much force as she could muster, sending him hurtling into the ground with a sickening thud. Steve brought his hand to his face, his fingers quickly coating with blood, and stared up at her in shock. </p><p>“My nose,” he gasped, pulling his hand away to take in the dark liquid trickling down to his wrist. </p><p>“Stay the fuck away from Judy or I’ll break it next time,” she hissed, turning on her heels and walking away. </p><p>Her thoughts were racing as she made her way backstage. She wasn’t entirely sure that she <em> hadn’t </em>broken Steve’s nose, for one. Jen had a reputation for her anger, but she was never violent. She’d never been in an actual physical fight and, really, how much force did it take to break a nose? She certainly wasn’t weak; she had a moderately utilized CrossFit membership, thank you very much. </p><p>The second thing on her mind was, as always, Judy. She had to pull herself together for Judy’s sake. There was no time to worry about anything beyond the present moment, so Jen walked with purpose and pushed everything else down as far as she could. </p><p>“Jen!” Judy called out, running up to her, “We’re on, like, <em> now. </em>Where were you?”</p><p>Jen threw her arms around Judy and squeezed her tight before pulling back and taking a deep breath, “One last time. Let’s fucking win this, Judes. Together, right?”</p><p>Judy just nodded, her eyes wide, and Jen walked into the lights alone. </p><p>When the music stopped and the crowd erupted in cheers, Jen could only stand in place and stare. The lightness in her chest felt like helium; not an emptiness, but a weightlessness. With blinding lights in her eyes and deafening screams echoing in her ears, it was the first time in years that Jen had felt young<em> .  </em></p><p>Looking out into the crowd through the haze of glitter and confetti, she thought of dive bar shows played to audiences of twenty and off-tune Madonna karaoke in her childhood bedroom. She thought of her first dance recital and the way her mother’s cheers had drowned out the music. </p><p>It was a strange feeling, Jen thought — standing for so long at the edge of a precipice waiting for permission to jump. Waiting to be told she was <em> good enough </em>to make the leap, deserving of seeing the other side. After so many years of dreaming of a moment like this, her final hail Mary before resigning herself entirely, Jen had never quite imagined how it would feel if it happened. </p><p>Then she saw Judy; shining like a star with her thousand megawatt smile and gleaming eyes. </p><p>She saw Judy and that small, childlike voice in her head said: <em> We’re still so young, aren’t we? We can still be everything we wanted to be.  </em></p><p>Jen turned to Judy, careful not to let her smile falter with the cameras surrounding them and spoke through gritted teeth, “I think I might have broken Steve’s nose.”</p><p>Judy’s eyes widened for a moment, her easy grin tensing, “You did <em> what</em>, Jen?”</p><p>“I think I might love you.” Jen‘s breath hitched, “I think I might be in love with you.”</p><p>Judy lunged forward, taking Jen’s face in both palms and crashing their lips together.</p><p>It was as if somebody had clicked fast-forward on time itself, moments stringing together dreamlike and amphetamine-fast as she kissed Judy, as they waved to the crowd, as they held eachother close in the green room and the announcer yelled to the audience: <em> the winner is Sweden.  </em></p><p>And that was how it happened; how two girls, a glorified janitor reared on loneliness in the back of a battered Westfalia and a rootless Swedish expatriate, became the women of the hour, millions of people screaming just for them. </p><p>Jen thought then that happiness was less contingent on forever than it was a collection of moments like these and being brave enough to live them. The past had shaped her, molded her like molten steel into a woman who could love as hard as her fists could hit bone, and if the complexities of life could be reduced to Newtonian terms, action and reaction, she could feel the push and pull of loss and gain coursing through her in equal measure. If that was happiness, the fraught path of learning to live in the space between them, then Jen would teach herself to find comfort in shades of grey. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Jen had never felt so disoriented as she did on the ride back to the hotel, Judy’s hand resting against her inner thigh unacknowledged as she rambled on at lightning speed about how she couldn’t believe what had just happened. They’d won; their names only a couple pages down from ABBA’s etched into Eurovision history. </p><p>Judy hadn’t said she loved Jen back, but Jen had felt it in the way she’d kissed her. In the guilelessness in her eyes as she stared at Jen in shock and wonder. Then Judy <em> did </em>say it, whispering it into her ear as Jen prepared to swipe her credit card in the cab driver’s payment terminal, “525 hryvnia,” and, “Fuck, I love you,” registering simultaneously from two disparate sources. </p><p>Jen was a little bit in shock, a little bit mystified at the nonchalance with which Judy had just dropped such a massive bomb on her, so she said, “I love you too,” to the cab driver and glared at Judy when she burst into uproarious laughter. </p><p>Judy was still cracking herself up when Jen unlocked their hotel room and popped a bottle of champagne, shrugging off her jacket and collapsing onto the bed to take a swig straight from the bottle. </p><p>“You think you’re so funny, don’t you?” Jen remarked, unamused. </p><p>“Fuck, Jen,” Judy cackled, “Can’t let it get to my head when you’re in love with every cab driver in Kyiv, can I?”</p><p>Jen groaned, “Maybe next time don’t, like, say shit I’m not expecting you to say when I’m trying to pay for our cab. You’re welcome for that, by the way.”</p><p>Something shifted in Judy’s expression and she sauntered over to her, taking the bottle from her hand and taking a long sip before setting it down on the bedside table and climbing into Jen’s lap. </p><p>Judy brought her lips to Jen’s cheek and pulled back, looking at her with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. </p><p>“Thank you, Jen.”</p><p>There was an innocence to the way Judy interacted with her, cheek kisses and lingering glances, that stood in stark contrast to the way her eyes travelled to Jen’s chest and raked over her body. Jen wasn’t sure what to do, so she erred on the side of awkwardly offered consent and blurted out, “You can kiss me if you want. Like, you’re <em> allowed</em>, or whatever.”</p><p>It was a ridiculous thing to say with Judy’s thighs straddling her waist, but she’d never felt so uncertain in a situation like this before. Like she knew what to do, the mechanics of it, but not how to go about it. Then Judy’s soft lips were brushing against hers, tentative and slow, and it felt like relief. Like a mutual understanding had finally been reached and Jen was free to dive in and let herself want it. </p><p>Judy sighed into the kiss, her hands fisting in Jen’s hair as she spread her thighs wider, pressing herself into Jen’s lap as if she were creating an airtight seal between their two bodies. When Jen finally pulled back, flushed and panting, Judy was almost unrecognizable; desperate and vulnerable. Stripped raw in Jen’s arms. Her eyes looked black in the dim light of the hotel room and her parted lips were swollen and smeared with lipstick, a swipe of red smudged from her chin to the tip of her nose. </p><p>This wasn’t an innocent kiss that they could laugh off and joke about in the morning. It was familiar somehow, like an old verse, the build into a crescendo; the anticipation of a refrain that Jen could feel in her bones. She didn’t want to stop it, wanted to lean in harder and commit to memory the heat of Judy’s breath on her lips and the way the firm muscles of her thighs tensed when Jen’s fingertips grazed her hip.</p><p>Judy crashed their lips together again, opening her mouth to deepen the kiss, and Jen fell back against the mattress, Judy’s thighs still locked around her waist. She shuddered as she felt deft hands toying with the straps of her shirt before pulling them down over her shoulders, fingertips dancing over the sensitive skin of her chest. Judy tugged the shirt down over her breasts and broke away from the kiss, sitting back on her heels to stare unabashedly at Jen’s exposed torso. </p><p>It was then that it started to sink in. Jen had never done anything like this before. Hookups, sure, and she’d had a few flings here and there, but Judy was her best friend, the only person alive who really knew her, and this was different. Equal parts exciting and terrifying and, if she was being honest, a little bit weird to be laid bare for her like this. </p><p>Judy’s head seemed to be in the same place, staring down at Jen like she didn’t know where to look or what to do with her hands. “<em> Fuck</em>,” she muttered quietly. </p><p>“I mean, yeah,” Jen snorted, attempting to lighten the mood, “I was kind of hoping that was the direction this was going.”</p><p>Judy released a trapped breath and leaned in, bringing her lips to Jen’s neck and an uncertain hand to her chest. She rolled a nipple between her fingers before replacing them with her tongue, grazing the sensitive skin with her teeth and causing Jen’s back to arch, chasing more contact with a breathless moan. </p><p>Jen slid a leg between Judy’s thighs, drawing out a needy whimper from the brunette as she began to rock her hips languidly against Jen’s bare thigh. As nice as it felt to be the centre of attention, letting Judy tease her with her tongue as the pressure in her abdomen steadily climbed, Jen could feel the night slipping by too quickly. </p><p>She pushed Judy to the side, moving to straddle her, one hand planted firmly on her chest for balance. Judy just stared up at her, lips parted, eyes wide and clouded with desire, “What are you doing?”</p><p>Jen smirked and played with the hem of Judy’s shirt, lifting it teasingly and relishing in Judy’s sharp intake of breath. </p><p>“It’s hardly fair, don’t you think?” she mused, “All of Europe’s seen mine and yet…”</p><p>Judy met her gaze, something like a challenge, and moved her hands from where they’d come to rest on Jen’s thighs to untie her shirt, letting it fall open with a coy smile before running a hand across her tits, pink nipples hardening under her own touch. <em> Well fuck, </em> Jen thought, <em> maybe Judy does have game after all.  </em></p><p>Not one to back down, she undid the tie on her own shirt and threw it to the side. </p><p>“You’ve thought about this before, haven’t you?” she taunted, raking her nails down the centre of Judy’s chest and watching her squirm.</p><p>“Yeah,” Judy breathed and it was so painfully earnest — more intimate, somehow, than the way she’d kissed Jen or touched her. Judy wanted this. Had probably wanted it for longer than it had even occurred to Jen as an option. She felt stupid for not having seen it before, for wasting so much time, but the skin underneath her fingers felt like fire and maybe all of that cosmic shit Judy believed in wasn’t so far off the mark after all. Maybe it was always supposed to work out this way.</p><p>“You’re so beautiful,” Jen whispered and Judy smiled, eyes closing and nose crinkling. </p><p>Before Jen could react, Judy was pulling her back down into a bruising kiss. It was rough and a little bit sloppy, all teeth and tongue, but Jen didn’t really care. </p><p>“You’re so perfect it’s actually dumb,” Judy mumbled into her lips and Jen moved to pepper her neck with open mouthed kisses. </p><p>There was an urgency to the way Judy touched her; eager hands finding purchase around her waist, at her hips, nails digging into her ass. The shamelessness of it felt dirty and erotic in a way that made Jen’s pulse quicken and cheeks flush. </p><p>She dipped a finger between Judy’s thighs and groaned against her neck as she felt the evidence of her arousal soaking through her spandex shorts. <em> Fuck.  </em></p><p>Judy whimpered, hips bucking to meet Jen’s hand, and Jen stroked her softly outside of her shorts, teasing her and revelling in the sound of each tiny moan and breathless little gasp. Jen couldn’t bring herself to joke about Judy’s responsiveness; the visual of her pink cheeks and the feeling of Judy’s hardened nipples against her chest as she arched her back were enough to shut Jen up.</p><p>“More,” Judy breathed, “Please, Jen.”</p><p>Jen stilled for a moment. This was really happening; Judy Hale was <em> really </em>in her bed practically begging to be fucked. Jen could feel the arousal pooling deep in her stomach and, fuck it, if they were actually doing this, she’d be damned if she didn’t commit. </p><p>She shifted down the bed, toying with the waistband of Judy’s shorts and raising her eyebrows. Judy nodded, drawing her lower lip between her teeth, and Jen quickly tugged off her shorts, settling between her thighs. With her view now unobstructed, Jen noticed the wetness coating Judy’s inner thighs and the brush of the seam of her shorts against her clit as she shifted her hips was starting to feel unbearable. </p><p>The initial awkwardness had run its course and now all Jen wanted was to hear Judy moan louder; to touch her and taste her and make her come completely unhinged. She dragged her tongue from Judy’s entrance to her clit to gauge her reaction, feeling a tiny flutter of pride when Judy sucked in a sharp breath and fisted her hands in the sheets. Jen repeated the action, flicking her tongue and sucking her clit between her lips, Judy’s taste coating her mouth.</p><p>“Fuck, baby,” Judy breathed, grabbing a fistfull of Jen’s hair and pushing her down. </p><p>Jen hummed against her and Judy shuddered. It felt too good to be true, like any second now Judy would pull back with a hoarse chuckle and an ‘oh my God, that was <em> so funny,’ </em>or worse, she’d look at Jen with disgust. It was irrational, of course; Judy liked girls and loved Jen, she’d said as much, but Jen had a feeling that was going to take a moment to sink in. </p><p>It wasn’t long before Jen discovered the rhythm that made Judy’s legs quiver and her chest heave with each sharp inhale. Wordlessly, Judy grabbed Jen’s wrist from where it rested on her thigh and Jen pulled back, wiping her face with the back of her free hand and masking her confusion. </p><p>She watched as Judy took a moment to steady her breathing and brought Jen’s hand to her mouth, her tongue darting out to lick along the length of her index and middle fingers before capturing them between her lips. Without breaking eye contact, she released them with an audible pop and guided Jen’s hand between her legs.</p><p>Jen fucking loved this side of Judy — the one that didn’t back down, that knew exactly what she wanted. Maybe she was pushing her luck, but Jen wanted to see just how far Judy would go. </p><p>“What exactly do you want me to do?” she asked with a cocky grin. </p><p>“Oh, fuck off, Jen,” Judy groaned, clearly unimpressed.</p><p>Jen ignored the comment, sitting back on her heels and sliding her hand under the waistband of her shorts, “This?”</p><p>Judy gulped, struggling to hold her gaze as Jen teased herself with a finger, tossing her head back and using her free hand to toy with her already hard nipples. It was a cheap show, but Judy was sitting up on her elbows, staring at her in open-mouthed disbelief, and as awful as it was, Jen really was getting a kick out of screwing with her. </p><p>A strained moan escaped her lips and Judy muttered a string of curses before lunging forward and climbing into Jen’s lap. Jen removed her hand from her shorts to grab Judy’s waist for balance as she sucked at the flushed skin of Jen’s neck. </p><p>“I want you inside me,” Judy rasped into her ear, “Is that what you wanted me to say?”</p><p>“Um,” Jen cleared her throat, squeezing her thighs together, “That’ll do.”</p><p>Desperate to regain her composure, Jen repositioned herself and slid two fingers into Judy’s soaked entrance. Judy’s eyes slammed shut and she gripped Jen’s shoulders, rocking her hips and riding Jen’s fingers in earnest.</p><p>“Look at me,” Jen instructed, curling her fingers inside Judy, and Judy opened her eyes, a guttural moan tearing itself from her throat. The combination of her wild hair and the haze of desire in her mascara-ringed eyes made her look almost feral. </p><p>“Fuck, Jen,” she whimpered, “I’m so fucking close.”</p><p>Jen had never been particularly interested in dirty talk. Most of the time it just made her cringe, but before she could think better of it, she was dragging her tongue along her top teeth, prodding, “Yeah? Are you gonna come for me?” </p><p>Judy mewled in response, increasing her pace, the rhythm of her hips becoming jerky and erratic. </p><p>“Tell me,” Jen tilted her head to the side and smirked, curling her fingers again, eliciting a sound from Judy somewhere between a whine and a sob. </p><p>“<em>Yes </em> ,” she choked out, her voice frail and strained, “I’m gonna come — <em> fuck</em>, you’re gonna make me fucking come.”</p><p>Jen could already feel Judy clenching around her fingers, her laboured breathing and the slick sounds of Jen’s fingers bottoming out inside of her filling the room. Just a few more moments and Jen would finally get to see her lose control (and thank God, because her wrist was <em> seriously </em>starting to cramp). </p><p>“Good girl,” Jen cooed, reaching out to pinch a nipple between her thumb and forefinger and Judy shrieked, collapsing gracelessly against her shoulder, hips jerking into Jen’s hand.</p><p>Judy covered her face with her hands and let out a breathless laugh, “Holy shit. <em> Fuck. </em> You’re really good at that.”</p><p>Jen moved her hands away, pinning them gently at her sides and offering her an uncertain smile, “Yeah?”</p><p>Judy tilted her head up to kiss her languidly and Jen felt her cheeks heat up when she realized that Judy could taste herself on her lips and tongue. </p><p>“What you did before,” she spoke quietly, her eyes fixed on the duvet, “Could you do it again?”</p><p>“You’ll have to be a bit more specific than that, Jude,” Jen responded with a playful squeeze of Judy’s wrists.</p><p>Judy looked up, “I kinda like watching.” <em> Oh.  </em></p><p>As she scooted back from Judy and hooked her thumbs under the waistband of her shorts, pulling them down over her hips teasingly slow, Jen was starting to think she’d give Judy anything that she wanted. She wouldn’t even entertain the idea of doing this for anybody else and yet here she was, turning to the side to give Judy a better view, leaning forward and arching her back as she tugged her shorts over the curve of her ass, past her thighs. She tossed them to the side and faced Judy again, spreading her legs and pushing her hair back out of her face. </p><p>“Jesus Christ,” Judy rasped and judging by the direction of her gaze, it wasn’t hard to imagine what she was thinking. Jen knew she was soaked and she might have even been a little bit embarrassed if it weren’t for the way Judy was looking at her. Wide-eyed and dazed. </p><p>Jen slid her fingers along the length of her pussy, gathering the wetness and rubbing tight circles into her clit, “Do you like that, honey?” </p><p>Jen didn’t know what had come over her. She certainly wasn’t a fucking prude and she’d never had any qualms about flaunting her body, but fucking herself while Judy sat back and watched raptly wasn’t something she’d anticipated. </p><p>“You’re so fucking sexy,” Judy sighed, cupping a full breast in her hand and skimming over it with her thumb. She was grinding her hips slightly against the bed, her arousal evident, and all Jen wanted to do was throw her onto her back and fuck her senseless. </p><p>Jen entered herself hard and fast, supporting her weight with a hand planted firmly behind her. </p><p>“Can you take three?” Judy asked, her voice hoarse, and <em> holy shit, </em>was Judy actually telling her how to fuck herself? Jen added a third finger, gasping at the stretch, the mounting pressure in her core betraying the reality that she was definitely into this.</p><p>As much as she hated taking orders, hearing Judy, usually so meek and deferential, boss her around for her own enjoyment was having more of an effect on her than she’d care to admit. She and Judy were like night and day, but more similar than most would assume; like noon and midnight, the sole correct readings of the same stopped clock. Accidental survivors turned temporary heroes of a fickle industry. </p><p>Judy crawled forward then, bringing her mouth to Jen’s hip and grazing the skin with her teeth and tongue. Jen arched her back to give Judy more access, still thrusting into herself with soaked fingers, and Judy moved to decorate her chest with sloppy kisses before pulling a strained nipple between her lips and sucking hard. </p><p>“<em> Fuck,”</em> she keened, quickening her thrusts as Judy bit down gently and lifted her hips to grind against Jen’s thigh. The mixture of pain and pleasure sent shockwaves through Jen’s body. Judy’s skin was soft and warm and she looked so pretty like this with her flushed face and muffled whimpers, but it was the sharp edge of an incisor that made her head spin. Judy’s touch left marks too, sometimes, and Jen liked it. Liked knowing that bruising intimacy was a trait they shared like a secret. </p><p>Jen was getting close and, though admittedly this was pretty hot, she didn’t really want to finish herself off. She’d been doing way too much of that lately. </p><p>“Hey, Judes,” she panted, “Do you wanna help me out here?”</p><p>“Oh,” Judy blushed, catching her breath and sliding off of Jen’s lap, “I got a little carried away.”</p><p>Judy shoved her onto her back and climbed between her thighs, finding her clit with her finger before replacing it with a flat tongue. </p><p>Judy fucked the way she did damn near everything; soft, sweet, and deliberate. The realization, paired with her view of the ridiculous tattoo on the side of Judy’s ass, was more than a little bit hilarious in the moment. If it were anybody else in her bed, she’d probably be growing impatient, but <em> oh God </em>, Judy’s tongue felt like a fucking rapture and she really wasn’t in any position to complain. </p><p>Judy stilled, probably having noticed Jen’s poorly-concealed smirk, “What?”</p><p>“Nothing,” Jen smiled, running her fingers through Judy’s hair, “You’re just very… gentle with me. I’m not used to it.”</p><p>At Judy’s lack of response, she continued reassuringly, “It’s not a bad thing, I actually kind of — <em> oh!” </em> she let out a surprised little squeak as Judy entered her roughly with two fingers and added a third. “Oh, <em> fuck</em>,” she breathed, “Okay. That works too.”</p><p>“Holy shit, you’re so tight,” Judy murmured, her kiss-swollen lips glistening under the lights, and Jen was already too far gone to roll her eyes at the line she was sure Judy had pulled straight from a porno. All she could do was spread her legs wider and whimper as Judy’s fingers curled inside of her. </p><p>Her face disappeared between Jen’s thighs once again and Jen let her head loll back, barely cognizant of the words that were coming out of her mouth as Judy pounded into her at a punishing pace. She’d probably be mortified in the morning. </p><p>“Fuck yes,” she moaned, her voice high and raspy in her own ears, “Don’t stop. Oh my fucking <em> God </em>, Judy, you’re gonna make me —“</p><p>Judy flicked her tongue over the sensitive bundle of nerves and pushed her fingers deeper inside and suddenly Jen was crying out, her nails digging into Judy’s back hard enough to break the skin. Her thighs locked around Judy’s head, holding her in place as she rode out her orgasm. </p><p>When Judy finally sat up, Jen was still spinning, staring up at the ceiling in shock. She couldn’t remember the last time anybody had made her come that hard, had been so attuned to her body, but of course Judy was just as amazing at giving head as she was at everything else. </p><p>The thought didn’t bother her, though she knew for a fact it would have killed her last year. Judy was amazing and Jen loved her for it. It was almost comical how something so layered had become so simple in the end. Jen’s petty rivalry with Judy that had carried on for months after she’d stopped resenting her presence, the prickling jealousy she’d brushed off as disgust when men would look her up and down as she ordered their morning coffees. It had always been obvious; an inevitability lurking just out of reach. </p><p>Judy crawled up next to her, laying her head on Jen’s chest, and Jen ran her fingers through Judy’s hair, gently working out the tangles. </p><p>Judy broke the silence, draping an arm around Jen’s stomach and looking up at her, “I don’t think I’ve ever fucked a celebrity before.”</p><p>Jen laughed, “So, what, I’m the first of many?”</p><p>“Nah,” she smiled lazily, “You’d be a tough act to follow.”</p><p>Jen was sure she was blushing like a fucking schoolgirl as Judy traced aimless patterns into her stomach. All of the soft feelings swarming in her chest made her want to gag. There was a very real possibility that this was the end for her and Judy. Tomorrow, she’d leave for her hard-earned vacation before heading back to Sweden to decide her next steps and Judy would go off on her own. </p><p>Maybe she’d hear Judy’s voice on the radio or turn on MTV someday to be greeted with a once familiar face she’d half forgotten. Maybe she’d keep the PVR recording of their final performance and watch it ten years from now; try to remember what it had felt like the first time she’d kissed Judy for real. Like a lit fuse and thousands of tiny fireworks behind her ribcage.</p><p>Jen tried to push the thoughts from her mind as Judy reached out and tangled their hands together, rubbing slow circles into the side of Jen’s wrist with her thumb. For now, Judy was still here and Jen wanted to remember her exactly like this. She wondered how Judy would remember her; in what light and for how long. </p><p>“Our song, Jen?” Judy spoke quietly. Uncertain, almost. Jen perked up. </p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“You know it’s about you, right?” </p><p>There was a fragile sort of vulnerability in Judy’s words. Jen felt something inside of her grind to a halt. </p><p>“You’re shitting me,” she tilted Judy’s chin with her finger to peer at her, “We weren’t even friends back then.”</p><p>“<em>You </em> weren’t friends with <em> me,” </em>she emphasized, Jen’s look of disbelief spurring her on, “Maybe it was a little aspirational.”</p><p>Jen barked out a laugh, “God, I hate you sometimes.”</p><p>It was easier to say than the alternative. <em> I love you. I hope you stay.  </em></p><p>“Nope,” Judy beamed, pressing a chaste kiss into Jen’s collarbone, “You love me.”</p><p>“Yeah,” she sighed in resignation, squeezing Judy’s hand, “I do.”</p><p>Judy was silent for a moment before speaking again, “Do you ever think about what happens after we die?”</p><p>Jen gave her a quizzical look, thrown off by the abrupt change of subject, and Judy continued, “I mean like, all of this <em> energy</em>,” she placed her free hand flat against the centre of Jen’s chest over her heart, “It has to go somewhere, right?”</p><p>“I think we just die.”</p><p>Judy hummed, “I think something sticks around.”</p><p>“That’s a nice thought,” she humoured her, “Do you always think about death after sex or am I just special?”</p><p>Judy tilted her head, giving her a serious look. “I think your mom’s proud of you, Jen,” she whispered. </p><p>There was nothing Jen could say to convey how badly she needed to hear it, how much it meant for Judy to believe it even if Jen didn’t, so she just squeezed her hand again and let her head fall back against the pillow. </p><p>“When’s your flight back to LA tomorrow?” Jen asked, trying to keep the tension from seeping into her words. </p><p>“I haven’t booked it yet.”</p><p>Jen knit her brows together, “Why not?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” Judy drawled, a cautious smile blooming across her lips, “I hear Santorini’s beautiful in the summer.”</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>